Going o the barber is my least favourite activity. I need my head holding still, as for some reason every time I need to concentrate on holding my head still it wobbles even more. Dad has observed this when he tries to shave me, much to his chagrin. I therefore have to have someone physically hold my head. In the past, this has always been a family member, usually Luke or mum. Now I’m at university, time with my parents or brothers is limited, and, as my hair grew, it was becoming increasingly obvious that I was going to have to ask my p.a to take me to the barber.

Now, I have two totally ambivalent feelings about my hair. One says it would be cool to see what it is like long for a change, and maybe do something with it perhaps pigtails. It could not be worse than Luke’s current hair cut, which looks like the magnetic stripes on the sea bed. Another part of me says hair is a total waste off time, an not worth bothering with. This part insists I get it cut, and, as it coincided with the feelings of my parents, that’s what I did.

I must admit, I tried to take short a short cut last week by getting a friend (whose name I cannot divulge) to cut the fringe. This was a mistake, as, according to Luke, the results looked like Dwain Dibley. So, as we needed to take the car for petrol, after writing today we went too find a barber.

It was nearing the end of the day, and the barber’s shop was quiet. There was only one other gentleman to wait for, and a short flick through a men’s magazine later, it was my turn. Quite what he thought as I approached the chair I don’t know, but he seemed like a nice enough chap.

‘take it to half it’s length’ I said, not daring to have it cut any shorter simply through fear of blood. My p.a translated and we were off.

I tried keeping my head still myself at first, but without anything to lodge it against, it was flappier than corn in a gale. I had to ask my p.a to hold it still, something I’d been trying to avoid. I’m not sure too why – like being shaved, it’s different when a family member does it as apposed to a personal assistant. Its rather intimate, as well as an admission of ones limits I suppose.

Anyway, the whole process only took a few minutes, and I paid the guy his requested fiver, and we were en route back home, stippling to get twenty quid of unleaded on the way before having dinner in the Wes. Thus I’m taking small steps towards total independence, and it feels good!