A little groan of appreciation

Having moaned incessently about the state of my hair recently, I actually booked an appointment the other day. I say booked, because it's been about seven years since I've been to an old-school walk-in barbers for a haircut; quite frankly I got a bit fed up with them only using an electric razor to cut my hair, and they'd always leave this big clump on top that made it look like I was wearing a toupee. OK, so I might pay a little bit more to get my hair done in a salon, but it's full of hotties so I'll cope.

Anyway, so I booked an appointment for next Sunday, but during the week they called me up and asked me if I could come in today. Hell yeah, I replied, quitely thanking the gods of Toni and Guy because my hair has really been looking pretty cack recently. And then today, about two hours before my appointment while I'm walking around Kingston shopping centre they call me up again and tell me the sooner I can get there the better because they've got some spare time; they'd clearly caught sight of me on the centre security cameras and realised I was in the midst of a hair-mergency. I could be wrong, but I reckon sirens probably rang somewhere.

The thing I really like about getting my haircut is the preliminary shampoo and conditioner stage. There's something slightly orgasmic about having someone else shampoo your hair, and ohmygod-that-bit- where-they-massage-your-scalp-is-worth-the-price-of-admission-on- it's-own. Several times I've almost drifted off to sleep while they're working the shampoo in. I think I enjoy it a little bit too much, to be honest, because I've gotten quite close to letting out a little groan of appreciation on several occasions. Not a squeal; a proper man-groan.

I'm not quite sure how that would go down with the shampoo lady, though. Even I would admit that it's not the most obvious noise to make mid-'poo, but on the flip reverse maybe she'd view it as it's intended – a sign of extreme appreciation.

"How's that for you?"

"Uuuuuurrr…"

"Jolly good!"

Shampoo over and I settled into the chair of hair destiny.

"What are we doing?" said my regular hairdresser, spinning her scissors like a cowboy spins a six-shooter.

"Short, scruffy, and awesome." I replied.

And short, scruffy, and awesome is what I got.

Uuuuuuurrrrrr…

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While walking around Kingston I encountered a ghost from the past - my old geography teacher - although we didn't acknowledge each other. You see, in my first year of sixth form, this guy, who had previously taught me for about four years, lied to me to get me to sign up to the geography A-level. Upon finding out about his deception I subsequently ditched the course, and he subsequently went on to blank me for the remaining two years I was there. Which is, I think you'll agree, very mature behaviour for a teacher.

And in an equally mature fashion I delighted in greeting him at every possible turn throughout those two years with a broad grin and a full-on "WHY HELLO MR-"

I almost did it today for shits and giggles.

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You can't see this, thankfully, but I'm super-blushing right now (and I don't have sufficient hair to hide behind now). The reason?

Tara has nominated this 'Tim Appreciation Day!' Bless 'er cotton socks!

I don't know what I've done to have such an honour bestowed upon me, but I'm very grateful. In fact, it's the topping on what's been quite an amazing couple of days.

So, by way of thanks, I'm going to show my appreciation in the only way I know how:

Uuuuuuuuurrrr…!