They can be very scary places.

Some people are of the opinion that they should be visited only when absolutely necessary.

 Others love them and luxuriate in the cocoon of warmth and damp knowing that they will leave rejuvenated and able, once more, to face the world. Those, of the first group, hope that they will leave improved, those of the second group   know    that they will do so.

 It is an art practised by self-styled experts. Sufferers think a black art.One that has been practised upon mankind since the dawn of time.
 

I made the appointment with great trepidation. I had put it off for as long as I could and was at the stage where only a paper bag over the head would provide any solution. A friend had recommended the place as my usual one had closed down.
 I was now standing outside willing myself to go in. Feeling a little like waiting to see the doctor or the dentist.

One of the beautiful people waited at the desk to greet me. Tall and slim with carefully manicured nails and, of course, a hair style exhibiting all the modern trends of style and colour. She smiled her welcome.

"Hello. I’ve got an appointment with Anna at nine thirty."

"Good morning. I’m sorry she’s not quite ready yet. Please take a seat." She indicated a group of deep leather armchairs. "Would you like a coffee whilst you’re waiting?"
 

I sank into a chair, fearing I’d never be able to get out of it again.
 I looked at my surroundings.
 Soft music played in the background.
 The air was filled with a pleasant perfumed smell.
I picked up one of the glossy magazines and idly looked at the houses I could buy if I had a spare million.
Gentle murmuring and whisperings came from the artistes and their clients. Snatches of conversation could be discerned amidst the comforting, soporific sounds.

‘How was it in the Bahamas this year?’

‘We spent a month there. Sooo relaxing.’

‘We’ve sold the flat in London. Bought a little cottage in the Cotswolds.’

‘She’s going in for that operation next week. She’s dreading it.’

Was I really in the right place, did I belong here?

I watched as ugly ducklings were transformed into swans and my fears began to evaporate. I wondered which one of these god like creatures was Anna.

"Hello. I’m Anna. You must be Mrs Richards. Would you like to come this way?"

I struggled in a most inelegant way out of the armchair and followed her.
 

"Would you like to sit here?"
 I sat down and she looked at me in an appraising way.

"And what are we going to do for you today?"

I withered under her critical gaze and could see that she thought she had a tough job of making anything presentable out of my mop of hair.