Severe Haircut

Sad it is, but I enjoy having my hair cut which I did yesterday. It is just relaxing, especially when the hairdresser isn’t from the local butcher shop. One particular girl who used to cut my hair always nicked my ear. I’d come out and for some reason one of them would be sore and bleeding. I tried desperately to avoid her. But the more I tried to avoid her cutting my hair, the more unlucky I got. So I just simply stopped going there and cast my net wider. Now about a mile down the road I’ve found another hairdresser. The barber’s in there change around and I can say it’s been years since I last had an English barber. This time I think he was from the former Yugoslavia, but was quite a nice bloke.

I tried several times telling him I wanted to keep as much hair on top as I could. Unfortunately the problem with someone who doesn’t speak English very well, is they don’t speak it very English very well or understand it. Somehow we communicated. I liked the fact he put a burning taper to my ears to singe out those recalcitrant straws. OK there was a moment when I felt the heat and nearly headed for the fire extinguisher, but overall I was happy. Sitting in the chair and seeing what he done. It looked smart and short, so I tipped him well.

A day passes. I get up early and head to the fish factory but not to work. My duty was on a picket line outside, though I don’t think we’ll be having further strikes, those who went in the factory defeat the efforts of those on strike. Then I had to hit the gym. So I did. It was here for the first time I was able to really see the effect of yesterday’s hair cut and I realised it was severe. Sparkling Eyes saw it on cam and told me I looked like a skin head. I was not amused so put my Russian hat on to hide it. She laughed and poked me several times and because she had been ill the past couple of days this all made her feel much better. In the meantime I begin to worry about the possibility I am becoming thin on top. Follicles beginning to migrate. Probably to my arse.

I went into the centre of London hoping to see the new Will Smith film, Hancock. But after seeing the price of a ticket and not having a real person to purchase a ticket from, just machines. I declined to enter the cinema. It is no wonder there are so many pirates about. The cinema’s and film makers have priced themselves out of the public's reach. For a day when I had lost money I was not going to pay an exorbitant rate for a ticket to watch a film, especially when it wasn’t even peak viewing time. Perhaps I should of collected my hair from the hair dressers and tried to do some kind of barter? For some reason I don’t think they would of accepted. Shame, they just don’t know a super hero when they see one. This disguise works wonders. The Fat balding middle aged man, who’d believe it, hairy ass and a fart to kill.