I was sitting on the train coming back from London the other evening and the lady in the seat in front of mine fell asleep on the shoulder of her travelling companion, nothing unusual there, but for some reason I felt compelled to snap a picture of her hair colour. I must admit the reason for this was a particular story about my Dad that came to mind and bought a smile to my face. Years ago when my old man was entering his 50s he decided that his hair was looking alarmingly grey (he was quite a vain man) Anyway, the solution in his mind was to nip out to Boots and grab a bottle of hair dye. Now, I'm not sure what occurred, maybe his picked up the wrong bottle or perhaps he wanted to make a style statement but the next morning at the breakfast table he turned up with his hair sporting a lurid shade of ginger, much suppressed giggling ensued. Anyway for at least a few weeks after that we all took the mickey out of him remorselessly via a new nickname, can you guess what it was?
It was "Swan Vesta"...
This lady made me think of that memory and, even though I have no idea who she is, I thank her for it!
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