When I was a young girl I had hair of gold that ran all the way down my back.
It shimmered and glittered in the sun and swayed in the breeze.
All that saw my incredible locks would wonder in delight at how such magnificent hair could exisit.......
stop the music
Ok, so it wasn't quite like that, not at all actually.
But I did have really long hair, brown, not gold.
It did run all the way down my back, that's true and people really did comment on just how long it was. Eye roll.
I loathed my long hair.
I resented the brushing, the endless, endless brushing of knots and tangles.
But when you're little (and let's face it, even now as an adult), mum is the boss and she wouldn't let me cut
my hair until I turned 16.
I think it's a European thing of long ago that she was holding on to, like, hello mum! It was the 80's!
I needed shaggy layers that I could tease to stand upright with glue-like hair spray!
I couldn't wait to turn 16 and cut it all away and save up for a perm.
To sweeten the long hair deal, mum would buy lots of gorgeous hair accessories for my pony tail and plait ends.
I had a collection of scrunchies that Madonna would have enjoyed sharing with me.
Yet my favourite accessories were a pair of delicious red bobbles.
They were plastic and popped open when I crunched them with my teeth (much to my mother's dislike).
I wore (and crunched) them alot.
(I also discovered that combined with a long wet plait they were a simple,
yet effective, weapon against older brothers. Not that I encourage that type of behaviour,
it should only be used only in desperate measures to rescue Barbie or during a wrestling match that you are losing)
Many moons later, who would have thought that I too would kit my girls with bobbles. Aww shucks.
I suppose we all love what we used to have.
Sparking old memories brings a comfort from a day gone by, maybe a little smile and sometimes a story.
Like how when you played with your bobbles in your hand and it flicked your knuckles, it really hurt.
Ok, maybe that memory isn't a good one?...
Anyhow, this is how the business was born. I couldn't find a red bobble in the stores. So in 2010, with baby 3 in my belly, swollen kankles and no place I could go very far, the research began to source bobbles that I could make myself and reignite a ponytail revolution.
After making literally thousands and thousands of bobbles,
(mainly pink and purple ones!) the time came to brand them with the rb initials. Yikes, what a thrill.
Thank you to everyone who has shared a story with me so far about their own hair spraying, crimping and bobble wearing days. Watching people's faces light up with an old memory when they see them at a market is like gold.
Thanks for stopping by, it's a pleasure to share. Wear your bobble proudly x Louise
ps, the day of my 16th birthday I cut a bob,
cried at my reflection for 3 days and decided to grow it all back again
(don't tell my mum about the crying part)
3 mini's and me x