Clipped

I think I was in my third year at university when I started to grow my hair long. It was in that final year that I betrayed what remained of the pledges that I made to myself on the way up to Liverpool: not growing my hair was one, not becoming vegetarian was another. (With hindsight, it would appear that any anxieties I had about leaving home for university manifested as a fear of becoming a hippy.) 

I kept my hair long right up until the day before I got married in July 1990 so, actually, it was only for a couple of years. During that time, the hair just above and in front of my ears used to drive me nuts: it refused to grow long or even to lie flat.

These days, those same two patches of hair have become a litmus for when I need a haircut. Over the last week or so, they have started to make themselves noticed, spiralling out from the sides of my head in an entirely unregulated fashion, and, in the absence of any trip to the barber's seeming likely in the near future, I decided to order some clippers on Wednesday, which arrived, yesterday.

The Minx was keen to get cracking but I gave myself twenty-four hours to get used to the idea before handing the clippers over to her, today. Thank God for her patience, attention to detail, and keen artist's eye, which resulted in a pro job. One more lockdown anxiety removed! (At least for me. I don't think I'll be able - or asked to - return the favour!)

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-10.7 kgs
Reading: 'Underland' by Robert Macfarlane