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

Return of the Stupid Sign!

Imagine, if you will, me sitting on a bus. Sitting waiting to arrive at the train station. I'm rather irrate because my local council has decided to make everyone attempting to get into Crewe late for work/trains/whatever, so that they can do a census. Right, so hundreds of people are prevented from getting to work on time so you can ask a few drivers some questions?

Q. "What kind of car do you drive?"
A. The one I'm fucking sitting in.

Q. "Do you find that you get to work on time with the present traffic conditions?"
A. Yes, as long as there aren't idiots on the road stopping every other car to ask me if I'm late for work!

Q. "If there was one thing you could change about your journey to work, what would it be?"
A. That you weren't by the side of my car asking me questions, but under it.

So yes, I'm on the bus trying to relieve my bordom and annoyance at being late in any way possible. I receive a few strange looks as I bop along merrily to the young lady sitting next to me's music (hand actions and all). So I stop. I don't want to make other bus users jealous through my incredible club dancing. Then, a sign catches my eye. It amuses me so much that I forget the rest of the journey to the station and concentrate on my main aim of taking a picture of it (this also received some odd looks, but I could not resist having a picture of the sheer stupidity of this notice). Now, the sign in my last post was silly, but this one out-trumps it by a mile:As you can plainly see, the 'with hammer' is added as an afterthought. What you can't see in the photo (you must understand, my camera skills aren't at top notch when I'm being stared at by a bunch of strangers) is that there is a rather obvious hammer by the side of this window. What on earth did someone use to smash the glass to prompt them to put up those words?

"Arrrrgh, panic! The bus is swerving out of control! This is an emergency! Someone smash the glass!"

"What with?"

"Erm... I'll use my head!"

*10 seconds later*

"Arrrgh, I'm bleeding! If only the sign had said to smash the glass with this clearly labelled and blatently obvious hammer!"

I shall be on the hunt for more stupid signs now, as they make life just that little bit less tedious... please feel free to send any stupid sign pictures or descriptions to stupid_signs@bobbikk.co.uk!

Bobbikk

Another Quality Blog From Bobbikk!

Sometimes, when I am walking down the street, jam donut in hand which I have just purchased from the local bakery, I get a funny urge. I'm sure most of you have had it. That feeling that the sentimental attachment to the paper bag that you have been needlessly holding on to for the last five minutes must be severed. That you just cannot contain the sheer energy within you to thrust the container away from your person and scream, "Nevermore shalt thou darken my hand with thine presence, paper bag!" As the seconds pass, the irresistable feeling takes full control of you and you know that you are meer moments away from that fiendish crime known as... littering.

What are you to do? You can't stop your body from doing what is only natural and right in dropping the damned thing. Yet, it would be wrong to leave the bag for ducks, mice and even, yes, zebras to get caught in. That would be just plain evil.

But then, as it is almost too late, the 8th wonder of the world comes into view, no it's not the Business centre at my university (although it is a wonder as to why the thing was ever built. It's the most disgusting looking building EVER), it's not superman holding his hand out to receive your rubbish, no... it's... it's...

A BIN.

That's right, your prayers are answered, the day is saved, Gotham City is safe for another night.

At least, that is the image that the bin company certainly wants to project of itself. Putting my burdensome paper bag into a receptical the other afternoon, I spotted this sign on it:

"Another Quality Product From Gamillion*!!!"

I'm sorry, but when have you ever described a bin as 'quality'? Firstly, I just wonder if the people who made this hi-fived when they finished. "Alright! Dude, we like totally made a bin! Awesome!" Secondly, what were the OTHER quality products? Surely the label on this bin should be extended to the following?:

"From the people who brought you 'The Quality Toilet Seat' and 'The Quality Plastic Television Remote Control Holder', get ready for 'BIN'. You won't believe your eyes at the quality of this product! Be on the lookout for yet another quality product from Gamillion!"

Surely only a sign such as that would be fitting for an acheivement of such magnitude?

Bobbikk

*Gamillion is almost certainly not the name of the company in question. I'd like to say that I had to change the name due to legal rights and the controversy that my amazing blog has caused within the bin making industry, however the truth is that I purely forgot the name.