I had my hair cut today. After accidentally shaving my beard off the other day I felt like I needed a haircut: it was time to admit that I didn’t have the patience to have a mass of hair and beard, like you know when someone loses it. Maybe that is what will keep me sane, I haven’t the patience to look insane.
I had that hairdresser moment today. Or should I say barber moment, it was made very clear during my cut that this was a barbers and not a hairdressers. A woman stumbled in. She sat down on the settee. I checked where I had left my coat (I would have done the same thing had it been a man in top hat and tails: I am not a gender/class snob, I don’t trust anyone not to steal my things. Paranoid is the word I am looking for). She garbled something about being on a bus with her son. The bloke cutting my hair patiently told her it was barbers after she asked if she could get a trim. She eventually left, after apologising for being drunk ; I had suspected a worse drug than alcohol, to be fair.
Oh, that wasn’t the moment: I digressed. The moment was four-fifths, maybe five-sixths, actually more like sixteen-seventeeths of the way through my hair being dressed. My hair was just what I wanted; it was what I had described precisely to the barber at the before he commence cutting my hair. I have long wanted them wispy bits at the side: the kind of mod hairstyle. Not ridiculously mod, Liam has had it from time-to-time. I realise it would look stupid on me: all haircuts look ridiculous on me; I am overweight and unattractive, they all look ridiculous.
The barber has got rid of the hair on the back, trimmed the top, shortened the fringe and left the bits by my ear exactly how they were. Well he HAD. Then he trimmed them.
I was left with a satisfying haircut. I was left with a haircut I was very happy with. It was closer than most haircuts have been to the haircut I have described to the barbers cutting my hair. However, for a few minutes I had the haircut I wanted. And then it was gone – like a man with the right amount of children and a sensible attitude to family planning: gone with a snip.
I had planned my journey to perfection: Iwas out of the barbers in plenty of time for my quacks appointment. So obviously the appointments before me ran over and despite being early I didn’t get in until 25 minutes later than the appointment time. There were two lads before me; one was straight in and out, the other was in ages. He must have GRID or something. Rubber up kids.
My birthday is officially over (again). I have now had the last bit of my present. My girlfriend contributed to the tour programmed for Richard Herring’s new show. I am proud as punch. Not only have I got a signed programme, but I am listed in the centre-spread as contributor. This is as near as I will ever get to being in print.