When writing these things a lot of ideas pass through my mind. What do I want to say? Is there a form of poetry that I want to tell the reader about? Just how drunk am I really, honestly? The last few posts were me trying to be all clever and thoughtful. Now this, dear reader, is not. This is just me giving out. I wish it was more, I really do – but it isn’t.
My amazing ability to grow hair had reached a point where strangers would confuse me for Cousin It (picture on the internet somewhere). However, I decided to get a haircut. Yes, this is really a post about a haircut. So, with this intention I went to the hairdressers, well Barbers – the one in Stephen’s Green with the suit of armour in the doorway.
The following conversation took place:
“What can I do for you?” asked the Barber, we’ll call him Barney.
“Just a trim, please. I want some of the length and weight taken away but I want some length. But not as much length. But still some length. And some weight but not as much weight. If I had to but it as a percentage then I would say, 25% less weight and length.” I said.
“Ok” said the affable Barney (I don’t know if he is affable, but I cannot remember the last time I used that word).
So he started to snip, comb, spray, and ruffle. He said “this much?” indicating about an inch. This was fine and I indicated as much by saying so. He then proceeded to take far more off. Like a fuck, load more. Like nearly all of it. And for some reason hairdressers never talk to me, they never engage in that ‘hairdresser client’ banter that everyone talks about. Actually, one hairdresser in Ormskirk once called me a “boring get”. Who the hell other than me gets insulted by hairdressers? It is not like you can have a witty retort as the bastards have sharp scissors in their pampered, effeminate hands. And hairdresser scissors are sharper than most scissors. They are second only to surgeon’s scissors in scissor sharpness (that is not fact checked but I am sure it might be right, it does sound right). So I am sat in the chair with the horrific plastic green wrapping around my shoulders and this man – who I thought was affable but is not at all affable – performing a Slash and Burn policy on my head, his hairdressing style is similar to the Zippo raids carried out in the Vietnam War (again, not actually fact checked). Apart from the hacking going on around my ears, I have Key 102 on the radio playing Westlife and I swear to Jebus that this guy starts singing along. I know that they are stereotypes but you don’t have to play up to them.
Hack, hack, you raise me uuup so I can stand on mountains... hack, hack.
All the other barbers were sitting around doing nothing. I don’t think it is because they are shit at being a barber. Just that they had probably finished all their days barbering and was having a break. But anyway.
Hack, hack, stronger than I can be...
So he shows me the back of my head with that little mirror that they use. That is probably the single most pointless thing to do. If you don’t like it or they have hacked far too much off what are they going to do? Glue it back on? Wankers.
Walking home I kept seeing my own reflection and the hideous mess of a hair cut mocking me. Met up with the missus who started almost laughing when she saw me.
She said, “I suppose it’ll take some getting used to”
Yeah like a degenerative disease or AIDS takes some getting used to!
And whilst I am here, they are some other things pissing me off:
1. That guy from Pineapple Dance Studios; it not the campness or the desperation to dance all the time. I’m grand with that. It’s the lisp.
2. The Clagon ads; who lets their kettle get that dirty. Sort it out, or you’d be drinking shit tea.
3. Fat Families; the TV show... and the families.
4. The Sex Education Show; it is a good idea but I don’t like how the presenter lady sounds so very forced when she says: “some people are gay, some are straight, and that’s normal” yes, yes it is but don’t sound so disingenuous.
5. Crap pornography.
6. The morbidly obese woman on the same show as point number 4 who claimed to be having sex five times a week. I just don’t believe her. She seemed like she was lying.
7. My fucking Internet connection; never works.