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Saturday, 17 May 2008

The New Look...

Thanks to all of you who've mailed in to comment on my new hairdo. The reaction's been mixed, I have to say - ranging from the unconvinced ("Get yer 'air cut, yer great lolloping poofter!") to the downright rude ("Get yer 'air cut and die, die, die, you great big pansy!") A few of you though were kind enough to ask how the overall effect was achieved, so I thought I'd fill you in on the day I spent with top London stylist, Keith, and how we managed to get that 'ruptured Saluki in a force nine gale look' that *everyone* will be asking for this summer...

The first thing to say about Keith is that he's an *absolute* perfectionist. Everything has to be just so - even down to the tongs in the sugar bowl....though why he doesn't just use scissors like everyone else is a bit of a mystery. He's *so* dedicated to the maintenance of his own impossibly high standards that he won't even *consider* cutting your hair unless it's virtually flawless to begin with. So it's often best to turn up at his bo-ho with a soupcon of Regency-style salon having already had a trim or, better still, wearing a wig that looks pretty much as you'd like the end result to be - as I did. But, assuming you've passed his stringent once over and he agrees to soiling his clippers on your mangy, flea ridden locks, I can't think of anyone I'd rather have let loose on my collection of hideously unrealistic made man fibres attached to a mesh backing and masquerading as human hair.

"So, what can we do for madam today?" Asks Keith. It's OK, he can see perfectly well once he takes the comedy eyes-on-a-pair-of-spring-style spectacles off. (Although there's no excuse for pinching a chaps buttocks, it has to be said. Is it just my ever-so-sensitive skin, or do curling tong burns take a bugger of a long time to scab up?) The initial skirmishes complete - "Something for the weekend sir? And would you like me to throw in some contraceptives and a vat of vaginal lubricant? It's on special offer and comes with free hosepipe applicator for an unmatchably sensual, snag-free shafting action....??") I put my fate in the hands of the maestro. He opts for a Byronesque twist on the Dandy style, with a little Urban Masseev, ironed out Afro - a twist of modernity thrown in to spice up the whole arrangement. That's the CD multichanger sorted - now for the *haircut*!

All told, I'm in there for seven and a half hours, but it's worth every penny (.....I do wish he'd get rid of that bloody meter....) as Keith painstakingly glues each strand of hair together. This must be costing me a *fortune* in u-hu, I think, but after a few minutes, I'm so off my bonce from the contact high of the adhesives that I'd willingly give him my house and half its contents in exchange for a short back and sides and a quickie behind the passport booth at Kings Cross St. Pancras. I do wish he'd trim his nostril hairs though...

L.U.V. on y'all,






  1. Run away, children! This is what happens when you start having fantasies over Aunt Sally.

  2. He's just jealous because his team have no chance of playing Premiership footy next season Stray...


  3. Where's Flamini gone (where's Flamini gone)?
    Far, far away...