The Philistine

I dread those words "you simply MUST read this; you'll love it!" My natural instinct (inherited from my mother) is to think "Oh no I won't!" Reluctantly I'll often take the proferred book and then agonise over how long is a decent time to keep it before returning it unread. Then again, if I return it unread then how do I field the inevitable question "What did you think of it?" I give in, I read the book and usually find that I struggle through, not enjoying it and resenting the time I've wasted reading something that is not enjoyable and could have been better spent doing other things.

While on the subject of books I must confess that I have tried very hard and failed to read some of those books that one must read to be regarded as being well-read. Among the books I have failed to finish are Shipping News and Pictures of Dorian Grey, much to the dismay of the person who gave them to me. I'm afraid that the same applies to many of the latest must read books. I have decided that joining a book club would be a bad thing.

However, I have thoroughly enjoyed John Mortimor's books, especially Clinging to the Wreckage. Vale John.

Hairdresser Chair Blues

As I sat in the hairdresser's chair yesterday, the same old feeling of dread washed over me. How do I want my hair cut? I don't know, you tell me what suits me, you're the hairdresser. I give him a rough idea of what I want, watching his face stay carefully neutral. He repeats what he thinks I want. I correct him so he attempts to garrote me with that little paper collar that serves to hold the prickly bits of cut hair tightly against your neck for maximum itchyness. He follows up with another attempt at strangulation with the protective cape.

The cut begins with him wetting down my hair and slicking it down with a comb. He then begins blunt cutting the bottom edges. Oh goodness I look like Adolf Hitler! I ponder the timing of voicing my concerns that I think this is all going to end in tears? I hold my fears in as he moves onto shaping the back, this seems more hopeful. Bugger, he's cut the sides too short, but then again, it doesn't look too bad. The fringe has a definite Beatle-esque appearance, do I resemble an older Paul McCartney fan?

I part with $25 and leave the salon feeling the start of the the million little hairs itch and a strange coldness about my neck. I think I hate the haircut, I always do.

Oh well, it will all grow out and in another three months when I have almost forgotten the trauma I will subject myself to it all over again. The best incentive for a haircut is to start with a shampoo; that head massage makes the rest of the ordeal almost worthwhile.