"Learning to live and living to learn"
Another week beckons, but before that, there is work to be done on the cranial agenda. I was awoken by a streak of lighting which, at first, I thought was very unusual for this time of year but then I realized that it was the wife responding to the demands of the schedule. As she flew down the stairs, I’m sure I heard the words, “Ah for the love of all that is good and pure, have a heart”, coming from her Fitbit before the front door banged shut and The Modus, screeched off the drive with an urgency that would have impressed Lewis Hamilton.
Lily, (the dog who must be adored), mithered something that I interpreted as “Keep it down people, dog sleeping here!”, as I reached for the iPad to review the news headlines. I felt light-headed and then remembered, of course, yesterday, for the first time in over a year, I managed to get my hair cut.
I got up to look in the mirror. I no longer resembled an aging yeti who has decided to commit himself to the norms and values of the Rastafari; now, I just look old. My hair, which used to be a hazelnut brown has now transitioned from grey to white, a characteristic I share with Lily who has gone through a similar metamorphosis.
The trip to the local hairdresser was not without trauma. It’s a homely salon, unlike the bigger venues in the local county town which are more like night clubs where, when you enter, you have to go through a 20-minute consultation, resembling a session of Cognitive Behavioral Therapy, before you see a pair of scissors.
Unfortunately, the young lady who usually cuts my hair was booked solid so I was assigned to the new male recruit. A nice fellow sporting a tool-belt, and shoulder holsters which at first seemed a bit intimidating, but then I noticed that he was covered in Tattoos, (What on earth is all that about? (See post on 11/04).
On seeing me, he gasped with a look of horror on his face, told the receptionist to rearrange his next two appointments, disappeared into the back of the shop only to re-emerge carrying an array of Black & Decker power tools. I enquired as to whether it was possible to have a general anesthetic but apparently hair-dressers are not allowed to “put you under”.
I let him go to work and tried to be a brave soldier. An hour later, I was able to reconnect with my neck and ears and as I paid up, I noticed a refuse truck pull up to the back of the shop, two bruisers in high visibility jackets got out and started shoveling a mountain of grey/white hair into the back of the truck.
The hairdresser thanked me for the generous tip and said, “see you next year”, and I left as Bob Marley and Wailers’ song Exodus, blared out from the sound system.