Green Hair

Passing thoughts drifted through my head last week like clouds through the windy sky... 

I remembered working in a Bed and Breakfast in Brighton as a cleaner when punk first came to the town. Horrible job, actually. The owner, a woman who I got on really well with, asked me to look after it for the weekend while her family went away. The permanent residents (men on the dole) went out to the pub on the first night, came back, fried up the breakfasts for the whole weekend, and ate up all the food.

At 5 a.m. I had to charge around Brighton looking for eggs, bacon, bread and milk so I could make breakfast for the holidaymakers. Urgh. I managed to do it just in time.

I had green hair, dyed with food colouring: it dyed every pillow that I rested my head on. No need for tech tracking!