Thursday, June 07, 2007

Hair Today, Gone Tomorrow

I have a love/hate relationship with my hair. There is a period approximately 4 weeks after it's been cut where it's optimal: the right length, it behaves itself and actually, looks OK. Outside of that period it's just so unwieldy, messy and unmanageable daaahling.

Recently it had become particularly annoying. Each morning, when I got up and looked in the mirror I groaned: two morning wood style flaps/appendages would stick out at the sides, making my head into a huge Concorde-style delta wing. If Terry Christian was fused with a tawny owl this would have been the result.

Yesterday, I'd had enough. So I asked around to see if anyone had any clippers. Dan had some, but he could only do a number 2 or number 1. Insert your own toilet joke here.

I wanted a number 4, but I knew I wasn't going to get it. So reluctantly, I agreed to a number 2. Step in Polly, Dan's younger sister, to perform the surgery.

By 8 o' clock I was shirtless in the back courtyard and a small crowd was gathering as if to watch a public execution. Polly started at the neck and that all seemed fine, but then as she moved on to the bulk the clippers started to pull and I started to wince like a big girl.

"Sorry" she said "the blades need sharpening".

Then the thing conked out.

"Dan....." said Polly "It's stopped again....."

By that point I had cyberpunky undercut thing going on. Probably the most daring haircut I'd had, but certainly not good for interviews/meeting the Queen. I really hoped that I wasn't going to be stuck looking like Limahl from Kajagoogoo.

Luckily after a bit of blowing it started up again. The whole thing took about 30 minutes as Polly hacked away with the clippers. At one point she gave me a magazine to read and asked me where I'd been on my holidays. But unlike a hairdressers, there was no mirror and I had to follow the progress by reading the expressions on spectators' faces. That's difficult to do. At least once or twice someone started laughing and that made me worried.

Finally, it was over. And by the looks on everyone's face the operation appeared to have been a success. I went up stairs to have a shave and a shower and caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror.

Christ, it's short. I mean US Marine Short. I mean Bruce Willis short. I mean Kevin Spacey in Se7en short. I look like a little version of Dara O Brien.

Anyway, people tell me it suits me. I think I look very hard. So don't mess, OK?

Are you looking at me?

I do have some photos of the whole incident, but they are on someone else's camera. When I can grab them I will post.

No comments: