I got my hair cut today. Actually, I got all of my hairs cut - at least the ones on my head anyway. I don't enjoy getting haircuts which is why I only do it about once every two months. That means I have about three weeks of relative confidence in my head followed by two weeks of 'I should probably get a haircut' followed by three weeks of avoidence of mirrors. How often do most men go? Whenever I'm in a barbers I find it difficult to tell the difference between the men who've just had a haircut and those who are about to.
Here's why I don't enjoy it... for roughly twenty minutes you are forced to look at yourself go through varying stages of unattractiveness whilst a stranger prods at your personal space. That seems fair enough right? I'm not one for conversation either. Everyone else in the barbers seems to be having a right old good time - nattering away like breakfast DJs. Me and my hair dresser meanwhile look like we're in a difficult marriage.
Once the haircut instructions have been sorted it goes like this...
'Day off work today?'
'Yeah'
'Lovely'
Silence.
I don't know how to get it past that point and have no real desire to do so. What should I say?
'Well, kind of. I'm self employed you see so almost every day is a day off should I choose it to be so. What's actually happening here is I'm using the need for a haircut to avoid writing the novel I started last November but am making slow progress on because I'm finding myself going into dark areas which are forcing me to confront the worst aspects of my personality. Later on I'll most likely write up our conversation in a blog which will make me feel like I've done something but will ultimately take me no closer to achieving anything of real consequence'.
'Do you mind if I use the clippers on the side here?'
'No, go ahead'
On a positive note, I think I've cracked what my standard haircut is. I'm going for what I like to call 'normal' and until hair loss forces me to change tack, that's what I'm sticking with.
I'm taking some Americans to watch a 20/20 cricket match tonight. That should be fun. I'm intending on loudly telling them the wrong rules...
'EVERY TIME A FIELDER TOUCHES THE BALL HE GETS A POINT. THE FIRST TO TEN POINTS THEN GETS A GO WITH THE BAT ALTHOUGH WE DON'T CALL IT A BAT, WE CALL IT A WICKET KEEPER. HEY! OFF SIDE! OFF SIDE!'
Then if anyone tries to correct me I'm going to shout...
'SAY ONE MORE WORD AND I WILL DESTROY YOU. DESTROY YOU!'
Here's why I don't enjoy it... for roughly twenty minutes you are forced to look at yourself go through varying stages of unattractiveness whilst a stranger prods at your personal space. That seems fair enough right? I'm not one for conversation either. Everyone else in the barbers seems to be having a right old good time - nattering away like breakfast DJs. Me and my hair dresser meanwhile look like we're in a difficult marriage.
Once the haircut instructions have been sorted it goes like this...
'Day off work today?'
'Yeah'
'Lovely'
Silence.
I don't know how to get it past that point and have no real desire to do so. What should I say?
'Well, kind of. I'm self employed you see so almost every day is a day off should I choose it to be so. What's actually happening here is I'm using the need for a haircut to avoid writing the novel I started last November but am making slow progress on because I'm finding myself going into dark areas which are forcing me to confront the worst aspects of my personality. Later on I'll most likely write up our conversation in a blog which will make me feel like I've done something but will ultimately take me no closer to achieving anything of real consequence'.
'Do you mind if I use the clippers on the side here?'
'No, go ahead'
On a positive note, I think I've cracked what my standard haircut is. I'm going for what I like to call 'normal' and until hair loss forces me to change tack, that's what I'm sticking with.
I'm taking some Americans to watch a 20/20 cricket match tonight. That should be fun. I'm intending on loudly telling them the wrong rules...
'EVERY TIME A FIELDER TOUCHES THE BALL HE GETS A POINT. THE FIRST TO TEN POINTS THEN GETS A GO WITH THE BAT ALTHOUGH WE DON'T CALL IT A BAT, WE CALL IT A WICKET KEEPER. HEY! OFF SIDE! OFF SIDE!'
Then if anyone tries to correct me I'm going to shout...
'SAY ONE MORE WORD AND I WILL DESTROY YOU. DESTROY YOU!'
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