Once, while working in Milan, an ex-colleague decided to get her hair cut. "This is the fashion capital of Italy, isn't it? What can possibly go wrong?" she had said. The Italian hairstylist she went to presumably thought Chinese women should all have China doll hair cuts and proceeded to give her one, replacing the chic one she originally had. As a result, I spent 4 continuous months working in Milan without getting my hair cut. I didn't know enough italian to articulate: "I want my hair just long enough to tie up in a ponytail so I can run comfortably, but not with it resembling a horse tail mane".

However, my reservations flew out the window when a girlfriend recently had a gorgeous hair cut by a Japanese hairstylist. She looked positively kawaii. The problem is I fear another case of Babel in the hair salon. The consolation was this Japanese hairstylist had an assistant to translate for him.

Well, actually he didn't. When I finally visited the hair salon, the Japanese hairstylist had already been taking English lessons, so he and I carried on a decent though strange conversation on Doraemon, Akira, Gundam, Kitano, kabuki, bad Japanese food and the heavy rain. Oh, and it was also the most expensive hair cut I've ever paid for (no perming! no colouring!) but it was worth it, if only for the attention he paid to every strand of hair.