Haircut Saturday

There's a lot of stuff I need to blog about right now, so expect a fair few posts over the next couple of days.

Firstly though, it's Saturday morning and first on my To-Do list was a hair-cut. The foppish, Hugh Grant look just doesn't suit me, and if I don't have it short enough to scruff it up with some product, then I look at least 30 years older than I am.

Secretly (or not so - this is a blog after all), i've been looking forward to this haircut all week. Why? Ben - the new hairdresser that I chanced upon when I first moved into my new flat in Pimlico.

Let's just clear something up from the start - i'm using the term Hairdresser - when in fact this is the most ridiculous term ever. Ben doesn't dress my hair, he doesn't arrange clothes for it, or select a hat to cover it up - he cuts it.

Nor is Ben a Barber. This term crosses the line between some Chavtastic shop with a revolving Red and White beacon on the shopfront and an old-style boutique where they do wet foam shaves. I'm no chav and i'm no Gentleman. I am a man, and Ben - good at what he does - he cuts my hair. He is my Haircutter.

So - Ben, such a great guy. I knew i'd found my best haircutter ever, because he's a massive football fan. I'm really paying him for a half-hour chat about football, and that's probably what he is charging me for. He's such a nice guy that he'd probably cut my hair for free.

Ben has some really insightful stuff to say about football. He reckons that the time has past when there was a real stock of Galactico players - the Kluiverts, Davids, Romario, Bergkamp - the great Nike school of players. They've all disappeared, and Ben is right. He also has some interesting stuff to say about Arsene Wenger's managerial style (Ben is an Arsenal fan), and we laughed together about hapless Spanish fool Rafa Benitez.

The time passes effortlessly, and before I know it, my hair is shorter and I feel great for having chatted about football for half an hour.

You see - this is what Cristina would call a Bromance, a slightly unorthodox case because it also transcends a professional boundary. Two guys, get together to chat about things which women might not understand. It's a wonderful thing. I can't talk to Cristina about football, but I can pick from various other topics (moisturiser, celebrity gossip, dolly parton and booty heels). So I need this mano-a-mano bond. And I don't mind paying for it if I have to. Even if it is with my hairdresser, or haircutter, or...well, whatever.

To Do: Grow hair quicker.