In case you missed it, last week,
I posted this picture of me:
It was the thirtieth anniversary of me (or to be more precise, my friend Frank’) bleaching my hair. I recently used the picture in my show
. I chose this one over others because the angle made my face seem bloated and I looked so surly. I thought it would get me the biggest laughs, and it did. The Sound of a Social Climbing Nun
But from the beginning, there were some pics of a bleached
moi that I quite liked.
The hair is much improved here, but I still have my unfortunate stubby shorts.
There isn’t so much of a clash with the eyebrows here.
I’m not sure how we got the top part of a Dalek in our house, but my fashion choices did not produce a spontaneous extermination.
It was around this time that I made two new friends at the UWA Politics Camp. They called me Budgie because my hair was two-toned like a budgie. They still call me that, as do their friends and families, even though some don’t know why.
Some months on. I made a paper chain out of my P-driver’s licence, in the days when they were made of paper and didn’t have photos. If we tried to get into the Casino, the doormen used to ask us what were our star signs, and other questions, to check that we weren’t using someone else’s ID. Though in my case, not for long.
Note the longer shorts, purchased from the very trendy Jeans West! I think I’d just had a hairdresser put through a rinse (one that didn’t have to grow out), but that doesn’t fully explain a few transparent spots that the sun is inconveniently choosing to shine upon. One good thing (and there weren’t too many good things) about losing my hair early was that doormen stopped asking me for ID.