The whirlybird gets the perm

It's been over six months since my last hair cut. It's something that I'm neither proud nor ashamed of - but if I had to choose, I suppose I'd say I was sticking-it-to-the-man by refusing to conform to this idea that we need to get our hair trimmed and sorted and treated every six weeks. Or whatever it is.

The truth is, I don't see a trip to the hairdresser as exciting - in any way, shape or form. In fact, I fail to understand this idea of pruning one's hair for pleasure as a concept in itself - I mean, who invented hairdressing as a profession?! Who was the first Egyptian [for some reason, in my head it's the Ancient Egyptians who landed us with this fate...perhaps it's something to do with the classic image of Egyptians with straight black hair and head pieces] that demanded their hair be cut? At which point in the course of civilization did some dude decide hair was that important? I just don't get it..! [BUT I have a healthy respect for hairdresses and beauticians alike, let's not get into some crazy argument over their worth to society.]

I am only writing about this because it's getting to that stage where I'm getting split ends, and everyone tells me all the time that split ends are bad. So I have to go against all my principles and get rid of these sodding split ends.

[Obviously my life right now is so interesting, that I am broadcasting to the world such sincere trollop about absolutely nothing. My sincere apologies. But expect more to come.]

Mmmm...gimmie some of these dreadlocks any day...