Friday, April 10

I'm gonna get me a gun....

As part of my regular trip preparation some physical remodelling is required (and not that of Mrs H's fertile imagination - see previous post)

A week before a trip toe nails are clipped, leaving time for any rough, sock snagging edges, to be sorted. Its little things like that can ruin a long walking trip.

And hair.

Well now we come to a Very Sensitive Matter, so excuse me if I pause a moment to shed a few tears over this keyboard.....

A trim was in order. This time I went for a restyle, cognisant of warmer weather and a desire to avoid that feeling of a sweat matted, scalp itching, tangled mess after a day of physical activity whilst wearing walking cap. A measure I've adopted over the years to combat sweat rolling down into the eyes, whilst also offering some protection from wind, rain and sun.

I should have been alerted when the barber of my selection (make that ex-barber) started to blow dry my still dry hair before any scissors or clippers had appeared.

After a spell in the black chair, a remodelled Mr Hee was launched onto the streets of Bournemouth. Feeling slightly chillier around the head region, but reflecting that sartorial elegance, alongside sensible practicality, had some short term costs.

Back in the workplace my colleagues reaction was unexpected. Condolences were offered freely, from people who typically would not have made any comment whatsoever.

Some brief restyling with water and paper towels seemed to alleviate the more immediate impact.

And I was content.

That was until I popped in to a visit a friend on the way home. The conversation was difficult, but honest. Parts of my stunning hair cut, beyond my immediate sight, had been hacked by some blind drunken beggar with pathological tendencies. It was a mess.


Finally, after many years of existence, I had fallen prey to that most iniquitous of crimes - a bad hair cut.

No - make that a Very Bad Hair Cut.

As a result, two hours later, and with the assistance of guffawing family members & red hot electric clippers, the sartorial elegance was replaced by the sort of hair style that, with my Midlands genes and craggy good looks, means that for the next few weeks I will be clearing pubs as I enter.

Luckily I do not have the look of a recently released convict.

But worryingly, with the #4 top cut & #8 back trim I now have the look about me of a lifelong Hard Man.

Tonight & tomorrow I have plans to celebrate an event I thought I was unlikely to see, based on a balls-out lifestyle. My 50th birthday.

Be afraid O people of my neighbourhood.

Be very afraid.

For tonight I walk amongst you.

And boy am I pissed.

Here's to a Dartmoor trip. Which now puts me beyond the sight of my fellow man as my hair starts to regrow.


Needless to say I will be giving Dartmoor prison a wide berth. Just in case.

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Comments:
Have a happy 50th :-)
 
#4 top, #8 back - I'll try and remember that for when I reach your exalted age!

Happy birthday.
 
Hi John,
Try clippers with NO comb. It's a lot easier then to gain space in most places.....!
Have a good 50th.
 
Cat Stevens - an unexpected pleasure!!! Thanks John :-)

By the way, don't worry, there IS life after 50....
 
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