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Friday 19th December 2003

The war against my own hair continued, as today I had my first hair cut in about six months.
Seeing myself without a beard had made me notice just how long my hair had become and I decided that some of it had to go. I was not going to be quite as ruthless as I'd been with my beard and shave all the hair on my head off completely, but it was definitely the end for some bits of my hair. Some of the bits near the end. The end that doesn't burrow into my scalp. To cut off the wrong end could have disastorous consequences. I decided to consult a professional. They probably wouldn't make this basic error.
I did once cut my own hair. I was about six (I'll state that now, just so we can rid ourselves of the expectation that this paragraph will end with the statement "I was 28 years old at the time") and had just watched "The Generation Game" where the teams had had to cut the hair of a model (wearing a wig). I went upstairs to my bedroom and had a go at my fringe to see if I could cut it (this sentence works on two levels and is thus a kind of pun. I am funny).
I can clearly remember coming downstairs to show my parents my somewhat wonky handiwork. Their reaction was one of shock and badly surpressed amusement. I believe I had a primary school photo the very next day (I think it might actually be the picture that is on the first page of the History pages on this site)and my mum struggled to rescue the situation, but of course I still looked ridiculous. What makes the whole thing worse is that I've just realised that I actually was 28 years old when this happened. Not six like I thought. No, I was 28 years old at the time.
I bet that surprised you.
My problem with hairdressers is that I never know what to ask for. And beyond not wanting to look like an idiot with a wonky fringe (or a fringe that was wonky before it was rescued by my mum, but is now pretty much non-existant as a result), I don't particularly care what they do.
"What can I do for you?" the lady asked.
"I don't know really. My hair's got a bit long. I quite like it long, but it seems too long. Can you cut some of it off, so that it isn't so long, but not so much that it becomes not long. And I don't know, maybe do something with it to make it look good?"
The hairdresser was a bit no-plussed by this, unsurprisingly.
"How much should I take off?"
"I don't really know. About this much?" I indicated a cut-off point with my fingers, but wasn't convinced I'd chosen the right place. I found it hard to visualise "Whatever you think really.... as long as it's not too long.... but is still long."
Thankfully she got on with it and I think it's OK, but I was mainly transfixed by my chubby, bare chin in the mirror so it might be rubbish.
She didn't talk to me either, which is something I really like in a hairdresser. It's an embarrassing situation to have a stranger touching you in a fairly intimate way, and cutting bits off you and giving you a different image. I prefer to get through this embarrassment by not discussing my job or where I've been on holiday.
Anyway, more hair (the enemy of all that is good and normal) has gone. Tomorrow I might go for a bikini wax.


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