It's all about me

and my hair

This morning I woke up with the curiosity I always get after going to bed with wet hair. It’s quite exciting, never knowing what will look back at me in the morning mirror. Sometimes my hair looks great (to me), like an expensive salon experience, and some times it looks like a lopsided, half mowed hay field. The latter is today’s look, but no matter, I am not going anywhere that anyone will care.

Going to bed with wet hair is the only way I can get it to not frizz post washing, but it’s always a gamble, a fun one, but a gamble nonetheless. I am a very low maintenance hair person, no blow drying, no brushing, a bit of oil to stop it flying about like candy floss. I care about the cut (big issue since moving here) and whether it can hold its own without any fannying about on my part further down the line. It’s hard to tell straight after a cut because no matter what you say a hairdresser will always put stuff in it, blow it about, tweak and twiddle, so you need a immediate rinse and scrunch after, and then two days before you know the final result. No one but me ever notices the difference, especially the American who notices absolutely nothing, so you may wonder why I bother, but I can see the difference and that matters to me.

I wash my hair about once a week. If I could get away with less than that I would, but my scalp gets itchy. My hair now is almost uniformly bright white. I think some dark bits still lurk at the nape of my neck, but I can’t be sure. I have a few dark strands that add a little je ne sais quoi to the curls about my ears, but that’s it. I miss my dark hair. It was very, very dark brown, and wavy. Very fine, but a lot of it. My dad’s hair was white too, with little yellow tinges to the sides in the 70s, when he wore it a bit longer, due to the constant stream of nicotine from his cigarettes. I never knew him with dark hair, I think it began to turn in his 30s before I was born. My hair started the change around that time too, but access to home dye hid that for a long time. Eventually, in my late forties I got fed up with having to disguise the increasingly white roots and began to dye strategically, always leaving a streak at the front, like the Mallen streak, that got bigger and bigger over time until I chopped it all off and became Judi Dench overnight.

• Me aged about 9 with white haired Dad and glamorous Mum (she absolutely loved capes) and ruffian siblings. Unruly hair held back with an elastic hairband. Aunt Fanny (tantafanni), the German aunt of the family next door, used to pull my hair bands to cover my ears. She also used to pull my hair sometimes as she thought I was far too scruffy and would huff and puff over the state of me, always trying to get me to look like a young lady. It didn’t work.

• Me aged 14 - unruly hair in unruly life in Scotland.

• Me aged 30 - short cropped but undyed hair - poseur (also thinnest I have ever been).

• Me aged about 45 - beginning the undying process.

• Me aged 50 getting wed, giving the streak it’s final outing.

• Me aged 50 someink - letting the grey flourish (super flattering photo by super talented Rob Wicks as part of Spike Island Cafe publicity thing)

• Me aged whatever… trying out long hair again (not good idea) and playing with pink rinse, also not good. But excellent mohair coat and borrowed crocs ensemble, don’t you think?

• Me giving in to the scruff once more (never gave it up to be honest) no dye, all white, here I am.

So, that’s enough of that nonsense. I thought Betty Marmalade was all about food? Well, she is. But behind the food, the recipes, the random thoughts and ranty political posts on here is me and sometimes I get really interested in the me that was, the previous lives of me, what I was doing, what I looked like, what I felt. I find me pretty interesting, as I find most people pretty interesting. My life hasn’t been wow and adventure or neat and normal, something in between maybe, but it’s all interesting in a socialogical study kind of way.

Maybe you don’t find this interesting and so I give you leave to unsubscribe or just skip on by. I do have to add that while I have mostly picked photos of myself that I don’t hate (I mean, a little vanity here), this is about simply being seen, by me, by you, not hiding. I think hair dye, which I throughly approve of by the way, is a way of hiding, delaying time a little. It’s not a face life, or botox trout pout or anything serious, but it becomes a crutch to rely on, and I wanted to stop relying on it. Also I think dark hair on me now would actually make me look much older and frankly weird.

With access now to skinny making drugs and facelifts (if you have money), filters and ai to enhance your online looks (but what about reality, going down the pub… what then?), endless ads telling us how we can have six packs by doing tai chi - it’s all about making us fearful of who we are and who we become as we age. I am not immune and I don’t judge those who feel the need to use everything in their power to stay looking young (much, anyway). Honestly, a six pack on me would be hilarious. Anyway - like I said, enough of that nonsense.

So, what are we eating?

Breakfast, or lunch, or supper. I do yoga on Wednesday evenings and so don’t sit down to eat dinner - can’t do downward dogs on a stomach full of macaroni cheese. I get home about 9pm and don’t want to eat much then either so a bowl of lovely toasty nutty flavoured granola with yoghurt does the job beautifully.

Here’s one from the archive - 2014, when I was a baby blogger on wordpress. I have adjusted it slightly, and the version I am actually making now has chopped dates as the only fruit as they are all I have to hand, but I will probably add some gojiis later as I love the ping of pink tartness they bring.

Knitting with granola

MAY 13, 2014

Or weaving yoghurt, or wearing Cornish pasty shoes… all signs of imminent hippydom and selling up to open a health food shop in small, unsuspecting Welsh village (oh the irony - I am not opening a health food shop but me and the American ARE opening a book shop in an unsuspecting Welsh town). But what was once laughed at by the moneyed-up city types as earthy incense saturated nonsense is now revered by the hipperati of Hoxton, vegans can be bankers and Hollywood is wearing Birkenstocks – it’s an absolute free-for-all out there. What was hippy is now hip. Granola is the new black. So, I made some.

Tired of paying over the odds for glamorous packaging (100% recyclable of course), with butterflies and grains artfully scattered in muted, natural ink colours I decided to buy a big jar and make my own to put in it.

Here is my version.

I use American cups for measuring this because it’s SO much easier than weighing everything, especially when you don’t have to be that accurate. If you haven’t got any use a tea cup as it’s mostly about ratios in this recipe.

• 2 cups jumbo oats and/or barley flakes

• 1 and half cups chopped nuts, whatever you like

• 1 cup pumpkin and/or sunflower seeds

• 1 cup maple or date syrup (date syrup MUCH cheaper) - or less depending on your taste for sweetness

• good glug sunflower oil

• 1 and half cups mixed dried fruit (I used sultanas, chopped apricots and *goji berries)

Here’s an interesting fact about goji berries, also known as wolfberries, not to be confused with wolf apples; they are said to have great health benefits which you can google/believe/not believe as you wish (protect the liver, help eyesight, improve sexual function and fertility, strengthen the legs, boost immune function, improve circulation, promote longevity – so, life nice and tidy right there then). They are quite tart on their own but in this granola recipe they work perfectly with the sweetness of the sultanas and apricots and add some lovely colour.

Pre heat the oven to Gas mark 2, 150C, 300F.

Mix the oats, nuts and seeds well with the oil, maple syrup and egg white in a large baking tray, making sure the mix is spread out well. Put into the oven for about 20 minutes. Remove and stir the mixture. Put back in for another 20-25 minutes or until just beginning to brown.

Remove from the oven and add the fruit. Stir it all up and when completely cool put in jar with a good seal. Then eat it with plain yoghurt, or by the handful, with milk or almond milk, chopped banana and big cup of coffee. Feel better about the world.

Signed, sealed, delivered (this was in my old kitchen in Bristol - I have since lost that jar)

Russell, that well known gourmand (if you click this link you will be taken back to 2014 and when Russ is discussing good and evil in Buffy the Vampire Slayer and Breaking Bad, his example of people we might choose to illustrate as evil are Ronald Reagan and George W… oh my god, they seem like positive pussy cats compared to what’s in the White House now) loves it and becomes quite animated at the thought of breakfast even if he has to eat it at 6.30am.

I added honey because I am not sweet enough.

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