So after getting fed up with looking scraggly I finally succumbed to visiting the hairdressers. Why am I writing about this I hear you ask, well mostly because it’s only about the forth time I’ve ever been. I was going for a tidy up and a colouring but after spending no more than a few minutes in there I decided to drop the colouring and aim to get out of there as quickly as possible. Firstly I had my hair washed by a chavbot with the voice of Twiki from Buck Rogers:
‘Just lay your head back for me now’
Is the temperature of the water ok for you now?
Is that pressure ok for you now?
I’ll just get some shampoo for you now
I’ll just get some more shampoo for you now
I’ll just get some conditioner for you now
Just sit up for me now
I then moved to the hot seat to be trimmed and it’s mostly this part I don’t like because not only am I sat staring at myself but I realise I have nothing of interest to say. Listening in on other conversations above the whirl of hairdryer engines I hear the banal and mundane chattering of idiots:
‘well Tony was offered to Dj but he wouldn’t do it, he was well too embarrassed’
‘ooh he’s a right nasty piece him but she wanted to be wiv him more than her husband’
‘Did you see the paper yesterday there was a picture of Kate Moss done in a old style she look well good so I was finking I could have me hair like that’
‘yes well I went to times square and you’ll never guess who was playing..’
What do I have to say? What does this person want to hear? How good my sex was that morning? How I fancied a mini roll? That I had just blown £30 on C.D.s? or how much I hated sitting in hairdressers? The most time I spend staring at myself in a mirror is when I shave and that’s only for safety reasons so sitting here with nothing to say staring at myself, analysing every line on my face, every spot on my chin and coming to the conclusion that I already knew, I don’t really like myself. So I go in for a confidence boosting revamp and come out a self analysed neurotic mess, no wonder I never go.