Friday April 14, 2006
12 days to M-day
“You done what?” Graham demanded when we spoke this morning.
“I said I ran the clippers over my head and cut most of my hair off.”
“I heard you the first time. What on earth did you do that for?”
“Got fed up with it being too long.”
“It’s been too long for weeks. What made it too long all of a sudden last night?”
“Oh, you know me. Creature of impulse.”
“But you’re useless at cutting your hair. What on earth does it look like?”
“Um. Short. And a bit raggedy. Rather like a run-down academic from Runcorn.”
“I can just see it. I’ll run the scissors over it when I get home, and tidy up the loose ends.”
“You won’t have time. You’ll be too busy packing.”
“We’ll make the time. Can’t have you starting your new Somerset life looking like you’ve been dragged backwards through a hedge.”
The conversation went on to other more important but less interesting matters, we said goodbye, and Graham got on with what turned out to be a totally crazy Good Friday’s trade in the bars. I settled back to tapping away at the keyboard, finishing my morning session.
The question of hair plagued me, though, so when I’d done I got up and walked into the bathroom to give it a good hard look, with the appropriate spectacles.
“It’s not so bad, Dolly,” I said, licking a finger and smoothing down a long bit that I’d missed. “I’ve seen worse.”