What a day. Suddenly we have something that looks like summer. About bloody time too. I went for a haircut. It’s Spring. It’s time for a shearing. I don’t look much different with short hair. If I shave my beard it takes years off. But hair does nothing – I’m bald with it long or short. The only reason I’m not buzzcut is that it messes with my casting.
There’s a whole hell of a lot going on for me this springtime. My everything is filled with change and development. But I’m sitting on the sofa with Brian and I just said; “I honestly don’t know what the fuck to write this one about. The three biggest things going on in my life are X, Y and Z and I don’t feel like I can write about any of them at the moment because they’re all in suspension.” So that’s where I am. I don’t want to spurt enthusiasm for uncertainties, but there’s nothing I hate more than a person who is constantly “almost’. So this talking around it is the best you’ll get. Even if that’s annoying as hell too. Like those endless posts on Facebook “Good news coming but I can’t say what.” (Baby? Marriage? Actually from Krypton? Lottery win? Discovered the cheat code for existence? Started a business? Learnt not to post mysterious stuff because it’s really annoying? Got to level 10? New President of the United States? Did a poo poo?)
Anyway, today’s weather was bloody glorious. And yes I’m changing the subject. Go fish.
I went to Camden to get a haircut. No point going anywhere near my address. They charge three times the value. Even Peckham have priced themselves out. Isn’t it about time that hairdressers allowed a “balding discount?” Then you’d pay in pride but lose in money. I wish the back of my head wasn’t located on the back of my head. “I just haven’t got the mirrors, darling, that’s the problem. If I just had the mirrors I could cut my bald head however I chose and nobody could think it’s acceptable to charge 45 quid for that tiny amount of tuft.” Still, my guy in Camden did it for 15.
I’m shorn now, and I do like that barber. He knows I’m easy and gets me in quick. He once told me a story about how he made friends over many years with an old couple who eventually unprompted signed him over some central London property, but the lawyer reverted it to the next of kin after they died. It was a strange story, and my loyalties were torn because you never know the details, but he told it with such detail, but resignation and lack of acquisitiveness that it stuck with me.
Anyway, big day tomorrow, he says vaguely. Nothing important happening at 3pm. Not doing anything unfamiliar and difficult in the evening. Just another normal happy Thursday. Yep. Nothing to see here. Move along. I have to go to sleep so I’m refreshed and ready for all the things that aren’t happening tomorrow that aren’t going to affect my sleep at all.