Lockdown haircut

Well I guess it had to happen, sooner or later.  Yep I’m talking about the Lockdown haircut.  As usual in our house, there’s always a memorable side to things.
There was no doubt I was in need of a haircut and my usual “who cares” attitude was losing any credibility.  I had progressed from the carefree Richard Branson look towards the unkempt hippy.

The first problem was trying to synchronise Hannah or Rachel’s availability with mine.  Having a haircut was nothing I wanted to be rushed.  Next was spotting the right weather conditions outside – a nice warm, still day would be ideal.

When those elements all gradually came together I started thinking my luck was in.  I had even spotted a pair of hair cutting scissors in the kitchen, so everything started to look more promising.

The main snag was the disappearance of the electric trimmer.

”Don’t worry, I’ll use the dog’s” exclaimed Rachel “you’ll never know the difference”

By now I was sitting in the garden, feeling slightly apprehensive.

Rachel then went on to find the right attachment to fit onto the dog clippers saying “now this number two, looks about right, let’s plug it in”

“Hang on a minute” I pleaded “I’m just after a trim, like I get every three months at the barbers”.  I had thoughts of ending up looking like a scalped sheep, which wasn’t quite what I had hoped for.

While the hair cutting process was underway, I tried to stretch my neck to get a glimpse of my reflection in a window.  This wasn’t going to work as I heard the snip, snip, snip going on, mixed in with the occasional buzz from the dog clippers.

It was all done in a few minutes.  None of the barbershop patter of “how would Sir like his hair today?” Or perhaps “going anywhere on holiday this year Sir?”.

After I’d seen the tufts of hair on the ground, I got a glimpse of my reflection in the shed window.

Actually not bad at all.  Saved ten quid too!