Stupid Cut.

There is nothing more dangerous on this Earth than getting a haircut. It's a bit like dying. You don't want to but you have to. You can kid yourself all you want but there's no 100% proof that there is no Hell and having a stupid haircut feels like you are spending eternity in the Lake of Damnation, burning constantly from shame.

I put off haircuts as long as I can but my hair doesn't take any shit from me. It'll let itself grow a bit but once it gets bored of growing it starts humiliating me. Even though my hair is longer it starts to look like I might be seriously ill and I'm trying to cover up big clumps that have fallen out. I'm not, my hair's just a bit of a prick. If I was smart I'd go to a nice hair salon and get my hair cut and styled by a professional. If this is the first time that you have read my blog, let me get you up to speed: I'm a stupid cunt.

I went to a local barbers. I should know better than to go to my local barbers because I've been before and the man is a nutter. He is a very welcoming man but he's also very, very hard work (like all nice people are). The first thing that you notice when you walk in to my local barber shop is the barber himself. He has a huge smile and asks a lot of questions very quickly.

"Hellosirhowareyoutodayit'sverygoodtoseeyouagainhaveyoubeenwellhaveyougotthedayoffniceonegoodtohaveadayoffwhathaveyoubeenuptoareyoustillivinglocalareyou?" just spunks out of his mouth and as long as you give a slight smile he is happy that you have answered everything he has just said. He also has shapes shaved into his head and has the names of every single person he has ever met written on his arms. The second thing you notice is the amount of severed heads he has lying around. Seriously. He must have about 20 heads all wearing wigs and weird stick on beards. They might be used to teach the art of hair cutting but I think it's much more likely that he uses them to make your experience as uncomfortable as possible. I sat in the chair and there were three severed heads right beside me, one on my right, two on my left. They stared at me throughout the whole bastardly experience. Three traitors to the hair cutting industry with lifeless eyes that remind us that any criticism will be dealt with properly.

Like I say, I've been here before so my return is definitely questionable. The last time I was there was a few years ago and the barber couldn't wait to know all about me and stupidly I told him. "A stand-up comedian?", he said. "I tell you who I like". Oh, fucking hell.

The next five minutes in that chair were utter torture. He couldn't remember the comedian's name or any of his jokes or what programme he was on but he was definitely his favourite comedian ever. Those five minutes could replace the dentist scene in The Marathon Man seamlessly.

"He's so funny, man. You must know him. He's on Channel 4."

Er...Alan Carr? Jimmy Carr? Fucking Maxine Carr? I don't care, I want to run away.

"No, he's funnier than nearly all of them. He's quite tall. Asian. Wears a hat. He talks to the camera. He was walking around. So funny".

Well, he sounds a stitch but I can't quite place him.

"YOU DO KNOW HIM".

Oh, God.

"He did a show in London. Me and my mates saw him".

One more clue and I'm bound to get it.

"He's funny".

No. I didn't really feel bad that I let the barber down by not knowing the name of a man that he refused to describe but I pretended I did. Still, we can change the subject now, eh? Talk about something else. Or not talk at all, that would be nice.

It was then that he remembered the comedian's name. "It's Jeff Mirza. You must know him".

Time stood still for about a century while my mind processed this information. I was alone on this planet save for the hungry, wild animals who wanted to feed on me while the blackened night tried to drown me in it's gloom. A100 years of freezing cold solitude and despair, finally broken by a voice...

"Yeah. That's his name. He's brilliant, isn't he?"

I was back in the barber's chair and now my eyes were squinting from the dazzling light beaming from his smiling, sharp scissors. "We will drip rubies", they sang. I better answer this question sensibly. The severed heads now happy that they will soon have a new member of their family.

"Yes", I said, my mouth cracking from dehydration. "He's great".

Anyway, to cut a long story short, I went back yesterday and now my head looks like a pineapple. It actually looks like instead of cutting my hair he decided it would be better to sharpen my head. I look even stupider than normal. And EVERYONE knows it. There are only two types of people in this world (there aren't): Those who laugh and go "HAIR-CUU-UUUT" when you've got a haircut and those who pretend that they haven't noticed you've had your hair cut because they really want to go "HAIR-CUU-UUUT" but feel it's somehow beneath them. I am in the first group.

I showed my new triangular head off at The Crown & Sceptre last night. Los Quattros Cvnts first show of 2010 had to be cancelled so we met up with some Precious Little podcast podophiles who were planning on coming along, just for a beer or two. Thanks to all who met up with us and big thanks to Nicola for the "What's wrooooooong?" t-shirt and Sarah for the "Give Me Your Shoe" badge. That was lovely that was.

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