Hair Today, Gone... er... Today.

Going to the barbers makes me wary. This is for several reasons. Firstly, the last time I went to the the barbers the person who did my hair (and I use 'person' very loosely) I ended up with what I think would be described as a 'bob' cut. Now, I know that my name is Robert and that does sometimes call for the nickname 'Bob', however, I don't think people should be able to tell my name from the type of haircut I have. The time before that, this happened:

Salon Magic

KABOOM!

SHAZAM!

"Wow!" goes the audience, in amazement, one woman crying out, "She's created a masterpiece! It's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen!" before fainting dramatically on the floor. There are explosions. Animals draw back in fear from the awesome spectacle, and three wisemen appear at the door asking 'we followed a star, has it happened again?' whilst carrying gifts of Argos Gold, the DVD of Mary Shelly's Frankenstien and a box set of Kelvin Cline fragrences for men. Then, suddenly, in a burst of fantastic, blinding light the creator steps back from the chair and reveals my astonishingly beautiful new hair.

That is how it should have been. That's how it was in my imagination, and that is exactly what should have happened. That, however, is not what happened. What in fact did happen, is that the Hairdresser-Lady (her full title, that) stepped back a second and asked me, "How does it feel?"

How does it feel? How does it FEEL?

I'm sorry, but I don't believe my hair has nerve endings in it. I'm pretty sure that if my hair could feel, then I would be writhing in agony on the floor at this very moment, as you've just cut some of it off! So, I'll tell you how it feels. It feels like I've got a little less hair than I had about 10 minutes ago. Is that meant to be good or bad? You tell me, Miss Hairdresser-Lady. Also, looking at it, you haven't cut a lot off really, have you? I'll admit, I have a lot of hair anyway, so unless you do something drastic, it isn't going to change immensely, but I would like to be able to say "I've had a haircut" and have my dad ask me seriously "Which one?" (He ALWAYS makes that joke, ALWAYS. Sad fact is... I do too. That's a warning, kids, you WILL become your parents.)

So well done Hairdresser-Lady, you've found one more way to make my world just that little bit less magical, thank you.

So, it understandable that I don't really like going to the barbers much. Despite this, I made my way to the local hair-atorium and sat myself down in the seat. Nothing quite puts you on edge like hearing the phrase, "it's my first day" followed by a more senior hairdresser saying, "Are you alright cutting long hair?"

Add this to my irrational fear of buzzing, which the razor he uses to do my sideburns makes (you have seen nothing in the way of irrational fears until you see me run screaming like a girl from the slightest buzz. The reason for this is that I think it might be a wasp and that it may kill me. Yes. A Wasp. In Autumn. Yes, really. Look, it's my irrational fear, I'll shit my pants at whatever I feel like, ok?) and you have a catastrophe waiting to happen.

Amazingly, the untimely end of the world was avoided, and the guy who did my hair managed to not turn me into the human equivalent of a topiary. To prove this, here is a before and after of my hair:

• Before:

Oh the difference! It's incredible! I look like a whole new person. I hate having my hair cut, it's such a dissapointment, I go looking like a scruff, I come back looking like a scruff. Many of you will say 'you should just cut it all off if you feel like that', but it's not that simple. I can't just cut it off. For one, my head would be cold, but more importantly, I would have a mental breakdown and you would find me lying in the feotal possition on the floor, cradling a bag of my then sacrificed hair. So you see, I can't cut it, otherwise I go crazy. Now I know how Samson felt, the poor guy.

• After:

Also, before I can cut off my hair, I have to do something monumentally stupid with it. Something like dredlocks, or going completely peroxide blonde. Something. I'll have a think. It may be a few years before that happens. However, if you see someone walking round with a haircut that makes you want to fall to your knees and cry, that's probably me.

Oh, and without fail, even though he was in the barbers with me watching me have my hair cut, my dad asked me 'which one did you get cut?' At least somethings never change.

Bobbikk