Hair Bear

(Firstly may I apologise for the lack in posts. I’ve been participating in something I like to call ‘slave labour’ a.k.a working on a weekend. For this I can only apologise.)


Today I was very late.

Like very, very late…

My father (God bless him…because no-one else will!) forgot to mention that he’d ‘borrowed’ my car. And when I got downstairs and set about finding my keys, they weren’t there. It was soon after this I realised that neither was my car!

Having survived a near-death experience at the worry that someone had walked into our kitchen and picked up the keys, I rang my dad, who informed me he had borrowed it and was on his way back.

(i hope he wasn’t disposing of a body because I’m not taking the wrap!)

When he eventually pulled onto the drive it was already 9:30am and I was officially late.

We quickly raced to swap places. I dived into the driver’s seat and for a moment I was taken back to my childhood…

It was like the last round of ‘Fun House, where the juvenile contestants, donned in red or yellow shell suits would do laps of the FunHouse racing circuit in a ‘relay’ fashion.

I loved that show…

I imagined Pat Sharp announcing the start of the race from my driveway, while the heavily-dreadlocked blonde twins Melanie and Martina waved me on from the sidelines.

Except there was no Pat Sharp…

And no dreadlocked twins…

And I didn’t have a red or yellow go-kart that had a top speed of about 10 miles an hour. I had a Peugeot 206 2l engine.

Still, I was late.

I was very late.

Luckily Mike didn’t seem to notice as I sat down and logged on. I already had a few tasks at hand and so he didn’t need to worry about giving me too much to do.

The phone went and I half-heard the mumble of a “oh hi..”…”where are you?”…”downstairs, ok I’ll come and let you in.”…”Nat, come with me.”

I was lead downstairs to the carpark where what I can only describe as a trashcan on wheels awaited my arrival. But this wasn’t just any trashcan on wheels….it was a patriotic one.

There wasn’t a spare inch of Roy’s ’98 Skoda Felicia that wasn’t donned in England badges, buttons, or butting, and boasted more flags than a golf course!

Mike lead him, and his crazy car around to the staff carpark, where I was thrust a camera, his name, and told to get ‘the story’. I was left with a man dressed as a cross between Hair Bear, a George flag, and Superman.

My first question had been already asked by Mike: “You’re self-employed aren’t you Roy?”

Roy/Hair Bear/Superman: “yup.”

That explains it all…

After an interview into the why, what, when, how, & who… I began the ‘photoshoot’.

Roy (who asked for his Surname, and address not to be disclosed) was more than willing to clamber onto his clapped-out motor for a ‘Superman-style’ pose, that he excitedly asked could be emailed to him to use on his Facebook.

By the end of the hour I had a few pages of notes and about 20 photos of the patriotic personage.

I hastily made my exit to the safety of the office, to type up my findings.

The remainder of the morning passed quickly and calmly.

I even managed to fit in a whizz round Boots with Charlotte on my lunch break before heading back to the office.

After devouring my very yummy jacket potato, I made my way to my next story. I was to interview a young lady who had recently opened the only ‘green’ salon in Staffordshire. She was more than willing to give me the information I needed, reeling off the equivalent of her life story, minus her early years, and when I eventually escaped, I had covered more pages in my note-book than on a large feature I’d done earlier in the week!

She was a lovely girl none-the-less, and she even had her own claim to fame in the form of her friend who she used to do ‘wedding catwalks’ with, who now does the make-up for the models on Gok’s Fashion Fix. OOOO!

On arriving back to the office an hour or two later than initially expected, I found that Mike had already escaped to prepare for the England match. So, having seen no reason to hang about, I left about 5:30pm and made may way to a further 4 hours at Sainsbury’s!

O the joy!



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