The Cuttin' Room

I always knew I'd have to undergo one more haircut before leaving India. It had gotten to the length it had been when I first arrived and I was stifling in the heat. More than that, it was essential I let my hair grow long enough so that I look like my passport photo for the people at immigration in September.

Finally, after a week of deliberation I got off my arris and went back to the barber's shop I had visited for my first snip. Sat in the chair with a bandage tied round my neck, the purpose of which I still can't fathom except as a method of ensuring payment through strangulation, I leant my head forward in the time honoured tradition for the artiste in question to survey my mullet. After a few seconds I looked up to a startling sight: me aged 45.

In this position, my neck tucked into my existing chin snugly creating a double-roll, which flattened at the bottom. It changed the shape of my head completely. Instead of the usual ball, my head was now a sort of meaty cuboid. The fluorescent strip above drained my complexion completely. My bone structure had accentuated, but had gained a layer of fat. The head I walked in with had been replaced by that of Alec Baldwin's - a sallow rump joint plonked and squashed on to my neck. The only aspect of this altered image staring back me which didn't provide any shock value was my hair. Now moistened with water spray and slicked back, the extent of my mottled hair coverage was far too apparent for my own comfort, and running down the centre of my head I could see a great canyon had carved its way through my hair. Oh woe.

After taking in this sight for far too long, my head was thrust back and I returned to my youth: no double chin, colour restored, hair out of sight. There'll be a few shots going down the hatch before my next trip to the barber's…on 2-3 months time.

Tony has resorted to 'repairing' the 5 pairs of boxer shorts he now has. Just need to hold on 'til HK to replenish the supply.