When my wife and I were casting round for a way of economising a few days ago and she suggested cutting my hair I thought she was joking, until I saw the look of intent on her face. It was unlikely to save much I protested; after all I only have a hair cut every three months. That’s four times a year, and at £10 a pop it’s not exactly breaking the bank. I didn’t like to suggest we’d save far more if chocolate was never bought again – ever!
When nothing happened immediately I thought I’d got away with it, but I should have know better. Fast forward to Saturday night; nothing worth watching on the TV - when is there ever – and she said, ‘Come on I’ll cut your hair.’
I know, I know, I could have said no; feigned some illness, but in truth the TV was really boring, so I agreed.
I was a little nervous at first, especially when I saw what scissors she was using; they were little blue ones the kids use in craft activities. Still they were sharp, and to be fair they weren’t the ones that cut paper in wavy lines.
I’ve never known a hair cut last so long though; I swear I fell asleep for a while. It was snip here, snip there, for well over thirty minutes. She kept standing back and assessing, then there’d be another little flurry of snips.
Still, we had a laugh; although she found it far more amusing than I did, judging by the way she chuckled every time she stepped back for a clearer look.
’What’s the difference between Harrison Ford and Catweazle? She asked at one point. I told her I didn’t know. ‘I can’t see one either.’ Was her enigmatic reply.
Eventually I was allowed to look in the mirror, and it was, well… unlike any haircut that I’ve ever had before. Well maybe it was a little bit like the one done by the drunken barber thirty years ago who managed to cut both sides of my hair a different length. No, I think it was better than that!
All I have to do now is decide what to spend the £40 a year on that I’m going to be saving.