Hello, after another lengthly notblog break I am back (again) promising to do this notblog more often… but to be honest, past events dictate it’s likely this’ll be the last you hear from me until at least July.
I have had a haircut, and I’m not sure I like it. This is for several reasons, the first being that I don’t think I like it, simple really - I’m scared I look like a cross between all of the 90’s shitband Menswear and a 40 something female legal secretary from Hatfield.
But secondly, and I fear more importantly, it’s more of a trim than a cut. I don’t get my haircut all that often. Once, maybe twice a year. When I was younger (i.e. last year) I would get all my hair hacked into and have funky cut that I would dislike a bit and leave it until my hair regrew into the fuzzy shaggy mess I’m used to.
I guess I’ve grown up, knowing that I like my hair how I like it, I’ve asked for it how I like it.
I think another problem was the guy cutting my hair was so young, and I think new to this haircutting lark, he did a good job, i don’t dislike his work, just I always think I want a haircutterer that will say “Yeah, you want this…” then a flurry of scissor cutting and I’m suddenly a model in a magazine or something.
The whole haircutting process is a bit of a non-starter for me. I’m quite short sighted, so with glasses off I can’t see my own reflection clearly and I have overwhelming social awkwardity which means that if I’m asked if I like this or that I just say yes, right up until the double mirror showing off at the end.
This also makes conversation hard as I can’t see when he talks, then my head gets all paranoid that the guy hates me cos I’m not responding and I’ll get a bad haircut on puporse.
The worst thing this time was he asked my what I did, and foolishly I said I was a comedian, but because the hairdryer of the person sat next to me was on I had to shout it a bit. I felt like a cunt as he asked me the initial ten questions all comedians get (email me for a full list) and I agreed with him about how great the Boosh were and told him it was nervewracking and where I get my ideas from.
The worst thing was (and this really does make me a smug, self-aggrandising cunt) that he asked me if i wanted to be on telly, and without thinking I told him about a meeting I’d had - now I had only just had this meeting, and unlike most others it’s very exciting as it concerns formula one. But I’ve become that person that tells strangers how well I think I’m doing
I deserve a shit haircut
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