The one where I got my hair cut

Here’s a lesson for anybody who’s thinking about having children - getting my hair cut this morning took three and a half hours. While I might have been sat in the chair getting it hacked around for about 15 minutes, getting theretook over three hours.

Here’s why;

Got up at just after 7, wandered downstairs, and expected to find children already dressed - based on the observation that they ask if they can go downstairs everymorning, and we alwaysreply “when you’ve got dressed for school”.

I met Little Miss Five as I entered the kitchen, stood daydreaming in her Pyjamas.

“Why aren’t you dressed for school?”

“There no Coco Pops”

Children are good at that kind of conversation - it must be where politicians get it from. Perhaps they hear an entirely different question - one that pertained to the mission going on in their head at the time.

Anyway - I digress. I set about making lunches - which meant looking for sandwich boxes, which W had washed up the night before. I normally wash up - which meant nothing was where I expected to find it. Of coursethe sandwich boxes were stacked on the draining board, and not dried, and put on top of the fridge.

While W helped Little Miss Five write out birthday party invites, I made 3 breakfasts, 5 packed lunches, 2 cups of tea, 3 glasses of milk, fed the cats, had a shower, shave, and said goodbye to everybody while brushing my teeth.

After feeding the chickens, fetching my bike from the shed, and returning to retrieve the bike helmet I suddenly realised I wasn’t wearing (I thought it was a bit breezy!), I headed off into town. Getting your hair cut invariably requires money - and I hardly evercarry any. En-route to the bank, I got stuck behind quite possibly the mostlackadaisicalschoolboy ever, who it appeared was struggling to summon the willpower to move one foot in front of the other on his way to school.

I finally arrived at the barber shop one minute before they opened, and then spent 15 minutes sat in fear while the stylist told horror stories about her various car crashes (inspired by my arrival on a bike), while angrily chopping away at what was left on my head.

Long winded and dangerous business, getting your hair cut.