September 2007


And so while having my hair played with the other night I was asked why I like it so much and whether I get the same from having my hair cut.  And that reminded me of an old journal entry I wrote years back.  I reproduce it here as it still holds true and I think it makes an amusing read (you can find the original here):

Heterosexual haircuts


I love getting my hair cut (which I did today, hence the thoughts – duh) as I find it a very sensual experience. I, like most guys, love having my hair played with, stroked, scratched, tussled and twisted, preferably by a beautiful young lady (though beggars can’t always be choosers – actually, one of my friends occasionally plays with my hair when I bump into her for a short while which I like very much). Within seconds my head sags towards my chest, I lose the power of speech and coherent thought and I start purring like a big, hairy pussycat. I could sit there for ever while someone plays with my hair.

So, going to the hairdressers is great for me. My stepsister is a hairdresser which, though cool for free haircuts, isn’t quite the same as getting it done in a salon (and being my stepsister, completely changes the dynamics so I don’t get that feeling). I went to this place in Brighton a few times when I lived down there and had a wonderful time. Bit pricey (but then if you’re used to free cuts you can’t really complain) but you got the full works (at least for a guy with short hair).

It started with a cup of coffee and a magazine and then you were taken to the washing area and introduced to whoever the younger trainee was. Invariably she was a pretty blonde with enormous breasts and a massive smile. She would tilt you back and start wetting your hair but not from the side – no – she would lean right across you leaving her breasts hanging directly in front of your eyes. The first few times I tried to look any where except straight ahead but eventually I realised that there was no where else to look. Indeed she seemed to get upset if you didn’t stare directly at her cleavage while she chatted about how great it was you don’t have a receeding hairline yet. I eventually figured that it was part of the service so just lay back and enjoyed it.

She would finish of by drying your hair and then giving you a head massage while you waited for the stylist. Heaven!

The stylist would then come over and she would invariably be in her mid-twenties, incredibly pretty, again blonde but with slightly smaller breasts (though I did once have my hair cut by a woman with breasts so large that she couldn’t get close enough to me to cut so she kept shifting them out of the way by resting them on my shoulders – most disturbing!). The kind of person who (at my age then) was a few years out of your league and you would kill to ‘know’ socially (of course I was younger then and didn’t ‘appreciate’ women as I do now…*ahem*).

She would again start running her fingers through my hair for 5 mins while she discussed what I wanted doing. She would then start and spend the next half an hour or so enquiring as to whether I had a girlfriend and what was she like (something I’m sure they are trained to do to give hope to the younger more impressionable males – not me of course!).

When done the next age of woman would come over, stern yet increadibly stylish in a sharp suit and shirt, early 30s, powerful, beautifully majestic and enough to make most (again – young) males weak at the knees. She would then check the cut and could (literally) whip you into shape. Ah…happy memories! I loved that place.

So, Tooting is kind of different. To say the least. Since coming here (except for the odd occasion when I’ve gone home – and considering I only go home 3 times a year I have been known to weigh it up with getting a free haircut), I’ve gone to Tony’s. Life is simple at Tony’s.

I can walk in there any day of the week (except Wednesday) without an appointment and can invariably get a cut straight away. The few occasions when he’s not sitting reading the paper in an empty (I hesitate to use the word) salon you will only have to wait a maximum of 5 mins which is just enough to gleam the salient ‘articles’ in the Sun. You then sit down at the call of ‘yup’, a blanket is put over your shoulders and he replies, ‘the usual?’ while spraying you with a plant mister filled with water (wash your hair? Surely no need). One after the other, out come the clippers, out come the scissors, out comes the straight razor (with a new blade which is more than some do round here – it also starts off my internal Gerry Rafferty impression as he rounds my ears – something I started doing involuntarily and now can’t stop). He finishes off by dipping his hands into a pot of what looks like mouldy yak semen (though it smells quite nice) and ‘sculpting’ my hair into something that in no way approximates the way I entered. I don’t like this stuff and it takes about 4 days of intensive washing to get out but I haven’t the heart to ask him not to as he’s been doing it so long and it seems to make him happy.

That’s it – no speaking, 5 mins max and £7. Marvelous! Sure, it’s not the greatest cut in the world but my hair’s messy anyway so it actually suits me and it’s cheap and quick. Minimal hassle.

Today he actually spoke to me and even exhibited some signs of (?)pride: *Concerned look* ‘Has someone else cut your hair?’, ‘Er, no’ I replied thinking quickly to wonder if I had been caught out inadvertantly betraying our relationship. *Quizzical/disbelieving look* ‘I trim my sideburns when they get too long’. ‘Ah – that’s it. I cut your hair for so long now that I recognise other work’. Return of normal sullen (yet content) look. All this with a European accent (I love accents but am rather vague at where they are from – for me they are either: bad, ‘a (insert continent/land mass) accent’ or sexy). He then proceeded to grill me with a ‘You from George’s? When do you all break up?’ swiftly followed by ‘You have big party for Christmas?’ Then back to the traditional and comforting awkward silence.

Tony only cuts mens hair – heaven knows what he would do if a woman ever came in. Layers and colour treatment? 5 mins!

So, kind of a different hair dressing experience but it does the job until I qualify and get a wage to pay for the luxury of a proper salon.

Ha.  It’s weird reading that back again from all those years ago (12th June 2004).  I tidied up a few of the spelling errors and cut out the non-haircutting stuff but it pretty much stands as it did then.  I’m just reminded so much of my age and how much more youthful I came across.  Still makes me laugh too.

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20 past 1 in the morning.  Psychiatric hospitals can be quite creepy at this time of night.  My second of three nights currently. 

Last night was ridiculously quiet but tonight’s already been a lot busier.  It’s still strange compared to medical nights though.  I mean, medical you’re up and working pretty much all night.  Here, I could have gone to bed at 10.30 last night and slept through (as it was I went to bed at 2 after arsing around and reading for a while).  But then you don’t know whether to sleep much in the day as you’ve just had an entire nights sleep.  Thing is if you stay up all day and then have a really rough night you could be awake for over 24hrs which is never going to be conductive to work or ability to funtion.  So, I went to bed last night and during the day.  And now I have a headache as my body has no fucking idea what’s going on!

While I’m thinking of it: movie update of recent weeks:

1408

I actually really liked 1408.  I’m a big Stephen King fan as most people know (and am actually reading The Tommyknockers at the moment) and enjoy his short stories almost more than the novels so was rather glad this got made.  It’s a good adaptation and John Cusack did an amazing job.  An imaginative and creepy presentation of an old, potentially cliched story.

Knocked Up

Really did very little for me after expecting so much.  There are some really funny moments but about half way through the humour seems to disappear and it just gets really unpleasant.  I don’t mean in a gratuitous sense, more watching people trying to deal with difficult situations badly and everyone being so negative and aggresive to everyone else just got really depressing.  I’m still holding out for Superbad though.

Shoot 'em up

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Shoot ’em up is the most ridiculously entertaining thing I’ve seen since Transformers and before then…well, who knows?  It’s amazingly fun, completely stupid and absolutely worth watching.  Paul Giamatti and Clive Owne are so much fun.  Watch it.

I’m pretty sure I actually had something to say rather than just talking about movies but I’m tired and have a headache so may leave it at that.

Happy happy happy happy.

I have little else to say.

(though I did just really enjoy the last 3 hours revising)

Count me cautiously excited…

As of today I’m ‘taking back control’.  Yes I am.  This is going to be a good week and I’m having much fun already.  I’m taking it back people!

Now I just need to do a few things:

  1. find a computer on which I can watch the new Iron Man trailer
  2. find someone to buy me the 160Gb iPod (please, please, please)
  3. find a huge bag of money in low denomnation, non-serial bundles
  4. learn all of medicine
  5. make dinner

Tomorrow I’ve got a whole day of breakaway training (only a month into the job after half of my on-calls are done, so timely).  Should be amusing.  One of the health and safety criteria to attend is ‘the ability to stand up from bended knee’.  So, if your knees are fucked they just expect that if you get attacked you’re probably not going to make it anyway.  Genius.

Home!

For some reason in the last few days the number of people checking my blog has almost doubled.  At the same time there are a hell of a lot of ‘naked’ searches apparently leading them here.  Marvellous.

Been on call all week which was pretty good for most of it until Friday afternoon when it all fell down.  On call this weekend as well (and nights next weekend) and it’s a change from medical on calls.  I’m doing psychiatry at the moment and the on calls are not resident (i.e. you only need to be there when you get called, unlike medical where you have to be there constantly and do a round – and to be fair, you get called all day too).  Still, didn’t manage to get my lunch till almost 4pm as it’s been a busy morning.  Interesting though and had to call the consultant in at one point.  And they arrived in 15mins which was pretty amazing!

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Been a tough week.  It’s a week like this that makes me wish I had the ‘Friends’ feature of LJ again so I can get a bit more privacy.  I mean I can password it but that seems too severe.  So, I just shant.

Still despite family issues (really bad ones) and money issues (again, bad ones) I then had ‘run in with the poilce’ problems.  Not amused.

Went to a training day on Thursday in Haywards Heath and parked my car in a cul-de-sac opposite the hospital.  Legally parked within the markings I might add.  At the end of the day I came out to wonder where my car was.  After 5 mins of slightly paranoid ‘I’m sure I parked it here…’ moments I realised my car was not indeed still there.  So, a local neighbour got me the number of the local police station and I rang them.

‘Oh yes sir, there was an incident there this morning…’  …long pause… ok, so are you going to tell me what it was?  ‘Well it appears that after you had parked someone came and parked opposite you and blocked off the road so when someone came and couldn’t get out they called the police.  After we assessed the situation we towed away both cars.’  Ok…so I was legally parked and the person opposite me wasn’t..?  ‘That’s correct sir’.  Right, so, erm, why did you tow both cars?  ‘Well, the road was blocked sir.  I appreciate it wasn’t your fault but when you park you have to consider what would happen if someone were to park opposite you’.  Even if I’m parked legally?  ‘Yes sir’.  Seriously?  ‘Yes sir’.  Anyway, to get your car back you need to go here…and unfortunately there will be a substantial fee…’ 

So, a taxi ride and £153 later I managed to get my car back (actually the woman only charged me £105 as she took pity on me but that’s not the point).  All because I parked LEGALLY!  Fuck!

How in any way, shape or form is that fair?  Why tow my car away as well?  The money is bad enough, let alone the inconveniance but it’s more the moral aspects.  I wasn’t breaking the law.  Only just managed to get there before they closed as well otherwise I’d have been stuck there.  So, now I’ve got to try and claim compensation from the police…

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The only good thing this week (alongside the continual joy I’m getting from living in Brighton)?  Well, like I said before: I miss the ‘friend function’.  There’s a clue somewhere in here.  🙂

Later

Ooo.  Life is getting exciting.  Simultaneously I’m working for the next 3 weeks straight.  Typical.  Still, won’t be long after that till I’m off on holiday for The Wedding.  Going to be awesome.