Jamie and I had our long-awaited post-lockdown haircuts today and, in my case, it did not go as planned.
The barber cut the sides but, for some reason, seemed to forget to cut the top - and I forgot to notice.
The result was that I came home looking not unlike Michael Portillo.
Worse still, Charlotte took one glance and announced that I resemble a hammerhead shark.
A bit harsh, surely.
This was us yesterday when we put gel in our hair and combed it back for a laugh.
But I'm not sure I look that different (other than the hangover face I was wearing after a well-hydrated weekend).
In need of some form of comfort, I'm reminded of that well-worn quip:
Q. "What's the difference between a good haircut and a bad haircut?"
A, "About a fortnight."
So I'll go back soon.
I hope you have better luck when it's your turn to face a scissoring.
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