That’s A Bit Off
Day off work was well deserved today – having not had one since December. Admittedly that was all of December (remember Leavecember? Crazy – it seems like about four months ago when it was really about three months ago), but still it has been a while. Unless you count the day after the Superbowl which I had off. Other than the day after Superbowl and all of December, I have been working like a dog. Not like a dog that works a lot. Like a dog that has worked about 30 of the last 60 days.
I’m Just a Boy with a New Haircut
The main reason for taking a day off was for getting a haircut. Deciding to get a haircut is like ending a long-term relationship. All the reasons you have for getting a haircut seem insignificant when it comes to the thought of actually getting rid of the hair. Well it’s not the fear of losing the hair is it? It’s the thought that your new haircut might not be as good as the one you have got rid of. Accordingly it takes me a week or so to get a haircut, involves a lot of crying and at least one spell of gluing the old hair back on my head and insisting I can still make the old hairstyle work. I am joking, of course, and I have certainly never got drunk and had sex with some old hair a week or two after I have cut it off.
Right Name, Wrong Number
I had my haircut in Chorlton Cum Hardy (I have the pretension to want to exist in Chorlton but am not paid well enough/not inherited enough to live there) which meant I could have the rare chance to meet up with my boy Martin who is both busy and a new parent – which is akin to joining the army in wartime in terms of sleep (and only being able to properly speak with other people who have been through/are going through what you are going through). Fortunately Martin is from the North-East and so is endlessly easy to talk to*.
So I had text Martin about meeting him. He responded in the affirmative – telling me to ring him when they had cut my hair. Like Samson I must have lost something with some of my hair as I didn’t think through knowing two Martins. Certainly didn’t think through that of the two Martins I know the one I was meeting was the more recent in terms of knowing so he had the entry if in my phone with his surname whereas the original Martin just gets to be Martin in my phone. And I definitely didn’t compute that the iPhone sorts people by surname if you give them one. So, I went to Martin in my phonebook and there was just one listed as Martin – hey! I was meeting someone called Martin. Let’s ring him and meet him.
The end of this anecdote is obvious isn’t it? Yes. I was speaking to the wrong Martin (not to self: The Wrong Martin is a good title for something). It is more awkward the longer it takes you to notice you have phoned the wrong person. It took me about 45 seconds. One if from Manchester and the other from Saltburn (-by-the-Sea): they don’t have similar voices. Other differences include: one was expecting me to ring him and the other was not expecting me to ring him and had a new phone without my number and so started the phone call asking who this was. FORTY-FIVE seconds. In my defence, I am a thick cunt.
There is a simple solution to this: unique names. I don’t see why everyone can’t just have to go by their Twitter name. People without a Twitter account will then be forced to have an account even if they don’t use it – like lots of people who don’t understand it/hate it do. Sure, there will be some confusion: Kelly/Ke11y/Kel1y etc but can they be any more confusing than just three people called Kelly? Names as we know them have had their day; they were invented years ago (I believe maybe over SIXTY years ago) before there were loads of people.
No-one had thought through the complications when they christened the first baby boy Dave did they. That first Dave was new and fresh. By the end of that same day there would already be 47,926 Daves. And they would all be good lads.
*Gazza is the exception to this rule – not proof that it is inaccurate.
Picture of the Day
Despite huge clamour for a picture of my new barnet today’s photo of the day is this, from Beech Road Park in Chorlton Cum Hardy:
And Raoul Moat.
He’s a personal hero but yeah – he was a nutter.