Em... Just a trim, please.

You'll be delighted to know that I've been doing my homework, and according to most post apocalyptic survival experts on the internet (don't look at me like that, I'm sure they're experts in something) the most crucial aspect of establishing a thriving community is morale.

I am a firm believer that nothing in this crazy world is as good for the endorphins as a shiny new haircut. Except maybe lemon meringue pie.  Or Park TaeHwan. But a good haircut definitely comes in a close third, so this week I'm going to make a start on learning how to cut hair.

I'm all too aware that this might be one of the most dificult items on my agenda - not just because of the level of skill involved, but also because I'm suffering from a severe shortage of practice volunteers. Who'd have thought my friends would be so short on altruistic spirit, eh?  Not to worry, though.  I have a foolproof plan.

1. Find a 'how to cut hair' post on pinterest.

2. Practice on some Barbie dolls.

3. Cut my own hair.

A touch drastic?  Perhaps.  But those floozies have had it coming, this'll teach them to have impossibly tiny feet. Also, cutting ones own hair is surely infinitely more difficult than cutting anyone elses, so if I can successfully negotiate that hurdle then surely I should be entitled to an honorary degree from Vidal Sassoon himself. 

Wish me and luxurious locks luck...

How to be evacuated with the useful people.

I’ve been a bit worried lately. You see it struck me that come the zombie apocalypse, or the viral outbreak, or the chemical leak, or whatever oscar-worthy reason they give for rendering all urban landscapes uninhabitable, survivors will have to move to a tiny commune in the mountains of Scotland. Maybe an island. Either way, it’s highly likely that there will be limited space and resources.

They’ll take some doctors, of course, that’s a given. And probably a few scientists and engineers so that they can rig up some sort of rudimentary generators and give us electricity. And I’m sure they’ll need farmers, and vets, and I reckon a police officer who’s handy with a gun might be on the list. But a community arts worker? While I’m passionate about the value of the work I do, even I’m not sure my skills would be top priority in a post-apocalyptic rural commune. I’m increasingly nervous, if I’m honest, that I’d be left hair clawing and bitch slapping with a pregnant woman for the last seat on the bus, and this is not a place I’d like to be.

So I’ve decided to improve my chances. Up-skill, as it were, and learn to do a whole bunch of things that will make me indispensable to the new order. These things include, but are not limited to, the following: cheese-making, dress-making, goat-milking, fruit preserving, knitting, hair-cutting and flat-pack furniture assembly*. I’m a city girl through and through, so some of these skills might take a little longer to master than others (I haven’t seen many goats round here, and I’m not sure that I’m quite brave enough to milk a feral cat.) but armed with pinterest and my Mum’s endless supply of common sense, I intend to learn my way onto the list of evacuees.

 'Mon the apocalypse...

*I’m not sure, but I suspect a world without an abandoned Ikea to raid probably wouldn’t be worth living in.