Addendum:
No, that can’t be right. An addendum must surely come at the end, after the piece has been read.
Perhaps, ‘explanation’ is the more apposite word.
Explanation:
Why this week’s ‘Life in Laytonia’ is so late coming online.
2 words: Broadband Provider.
No, let’s make that, 3 words: Rubbish Broadband Provider. No, let’s go for 4, or 5 or even 6 words:
EFFING RUBBISH INCONSIDERATE EXPLETIVE BROADBAND PROVIDER!!
They will be named next week!!
In the meantime, please read this week’s musings as if you were still in Lockdown 2…
* * * * * * * * * * *
Great, great news! Not one, but at least four potentially successful vaccines are currently being developed
Wearing my ‘George-Centric’ hat, this is especially good news for me!
Let me explain:
Thanks to the genes passed on to me by my dear late dad, I am blessed with a healthy head of hair. It grows at a hell of a rate which suits Danny, my hairdresser, perfectly. More important, it suits his cash flow.
If the rest of my body had grown at the rate my hair grows, I would be a man mountain rather than the diminutive 5’ feet 6 inch chap that I am.
Actually, 5’ feet 6 inches may be something of an exaggeration. I reckon that was last year’s height because my body is shrinking rapidly – and sadly, some parts are shrinking more rapidly than others!
There is, I am delighted to say, no problem in the hair growth department. My hair grows more quickly than my lawn, which in the mowing season needs cutting at least twice a week
Following our leader’s National Lockdown announcement on the 23rd March, I cursed my lack of forward planning.
Knowing that the lockdown was imminent, why on earth hadn’t I thought ahead about the abundant thatch liberally sprouting on my head? I reckon the weight of the hair was affecting my thought processes.
Before lockdown, my Saturday morning routine was breakfast with ‘The Boys’. We would all assemble at our local favourite coffee house and noisily put the world to rights.
During lockdown our weekly gathering had to rely on Zoom.
By mid-April, the moment I signed into our Zoom get-together, my hair became a talking point.
By the beginning of May, the popping up of my face (and hair) on the screen was the cause of much merriment and laughter. (I did say my hair grows quickly).
Come June, I/the hair became the butt of more teasing and increasingly tiresome jokes.
The fairer sex I’m pleased to say, appeared to like my ‘new look’. They approved of my silver/grey flowing locks.
Compliments ranged from ‘Mmm, very distinguished’ to ‘Mmm, very Frank Finlay!’
Whoa! Being compared to that fine actor Frank Finlay, I liked it! A leonine head of hair if ever you saw one.
The insults from ‘The Boys’, on the other hand, ranged from ‘Mmm, very Maggie Thatcher’ to ‘Let’s have a whip round, the poor bugger can’t afford a haircut’!
Cue for much laughter.
True, it was a touch bouffant and watching the current series of The Crown I find myself wondering now if it was more Gillian Anderson than Frank Finlay. But liberal use of what hairdressers call ‘product’ and a splash of water worked a treat.
To be honest, heartened by the lovely things being said by ‘The Ladies’ who included Moya – further encouragement – I was beginning to like my ageing luvvie thespian look.
Mid June
The ageing ‘luvvie’ thespian look
Meanwhile, the Zoom Saturday Coffee Mornings with ‘The Boys’ continued.
Along with the jibes, taunts, sneers, wise-cracks, digs, put-downs, hair-baiting – that last one was mine, not Roget’s – it was relentless.
It is at this point that I would like to make an observation:
‘The Boys’ , including me, number eight altogether. Seven of the eight are follically challenged. Draw your own conclusions!!
July 1st 2020.
National Lockdown (1) over. Shops open. Restaurants open. Leisure Clubs open. Hairdressers open. No excuse for not getting my hair cut. Except…
We have, from the off, been so careful in Laytonia. We have been living the social-distanced life.
No going to shops. No going to restaurants. No going to hairdressers. Why on earth would we tempt Covid fate now?
Post lockdown, I had no wish to eat out to help out. I had no desire to sit in a restaurant and I certainly didn’t fancy sitting inside a hair dressing salon however many masks and screens were in sight.
Besides, I was proud of my flowing locks. They were growing on me. Literally!
In mid-July I wrote the following:
“Whilst chatting on the ‘phone to a friend, I jokingly announced that I was not going to get a haircut until a vaccine had been discovered. The bet was made!
I have made numerous bets with this particular chum and I have invariably lost. This time, I am determined to collect the fiver.
We are all praying that a Covid 19 vaccine will be discovered soon. I have no wish to be pessimistic, but I fear that by the time it comes, I’ll be ready and possibly the right age to play the lead in “Methuselah – the Musical”.
The above extract is from ‘Life in Laytonia’ Number 10, written in the days before I had sage advice – ooh, ‘SAGE’, that’s an apt adjective when discussing the vaccine – written in the days before the experienced journalist, Jaci Stephen (jacistephen.com) advised that I give my weekly rant a title rather than a number.
Eminently sensible and downright obvious.
This week’s apt title: FAREWELL METHUSELAH!!
For the simple reason that I have won my bet. With the confirmed discovery of the vaccine, I can now arrange to have my shoulder-length hair Samsoned!
And not before time. Compliments from the ladies are long gone. Moya’s offers to cut my hair have been spurned. I look disgusting.
With Lockdown 2 impositions now in force, together with its ancillary consequences (crowded streets, crowded shops – those that were allowed to trade – crowded parks, crowded everywhere) all hairdressers are closed.
How am I going to celebrate my win? (Oh, and celebrate the discovery of the vaccine of course, that goes without saying. That’s why I didn’t say it).
No problem – Danny Scissorhands, I discover, is happy to come to me. He tells me during our telephone conversation that he will wear a mask and assures me that he can do a socially distanced haircut outside.
I don’t see how my haircut can be socially distanced unless he’s using a pair of edging shears but if it’s outside and we both wear masks, that’s good enough for me.
Danny: In Turkey, we do many haircut outside.
George: Turkey’s a bit warmer than here. Let’s hope it doesn’t rain.
Danny: Not matter. Have to wet your hair anyway…’
Sitting on a stool in front of the garden mirror, warmed by the patio heater, Danny does his stuff.
Snip, snip, snip, snip.
I look at my reflection. Still a long way to go.
Snip, snip, snip, snip.
Grey tumbleweed rolls towards the lawn, chased by the dog.
Snip, snip, snip, snip.
George: (suddenly) Stop! Stop!
Danny looks alarmed. Well, as alarmed as one can look whilst wearing a mask.
George: I meant to take a photo.
How could I have forgotten? It’s the weight of all that hair. I can’t think straight!
Danny: Why take photo? It look ‘orrible! I take photo when job done…
I persuaded him to take these (not quite) before & after photographs:
George – half cut!
Finished item
I rather miss the Methuselah look….
George – Until I reached around 50 years old, my hair grew rampantly. It was a crowning glory, as they say. Then, as if overnight, it started thinning and continued growing aggressively but only on the top. Already 6 foot 7 and a bit, I reckon it added another two inches to my height. But the sides…well, they decided to go on strike and grow, to this day, at their own pace. Not to be bullied into performing, my flanks are wispy, lacklustre and just go their own pace whilst atop, my hair gallops away like Red Rum with its tail alight.
I guess what we are discussing is the changing of the seasons. Being some 17 years your junior, I’m in the September of my life, aren’t I? You are a month or so nearer to Christmas. And so much in the body changes at this time, no more so than in the hair department. I have wild growth above my eyes, up my nose and in my ears. My few chest hairs have all but disappeared. Staring in the mirror I look like Neanderthal Man unless I clip, trim and cut at least once a week. Do your eyebrow hairs ever get caught in your spectacles? Bloody annoying.
Anyway, back what you were saying about how the ladies like your healthy head of hair. Yes, it did suit you. On most other men over a certain age, it’d just look plain daft and unkempt. Some people can carry it off, others can’t. Like older women who wear leather trousers. I don’t know why, but this suits some ladies literally down to the ground. On others, equally as lovely, it just looks wrong. Their genes require jeans be worn. Aesthetics, I think it’s called.
You are lucky, as is your hairdresser, Danny, that you can win your bet without you having looked like mutton. Or your hair a mullet. You are very lucky to have enjoyed your Lockdown Locks this year. But the short look equally suits you. My wife thinks it’s made you look younger and with her I do agree.
I enjoyed the lighter writing this week. It made me laugh. Next week…toenails? Thank you, George.
Thanks Brad – a lovely comment.
Very, very stressful week with our broadband being down.
Only managed to get this week’s up & running as my son told me how to action this Personal Hotspot. My wi-fi guru has only just left. We’re up & running but for how long? Who knows?
Guess what I’ll be writing about next week…
How do you like the titles? Cannot believe I was so short-sighted. Esp. since I gave all the Telegraph articles a title. Doh!!
Tech problems I leave to my capable wife. She’s been onto BT recently about all sorts of issues…she has an understanding and a patience for this sort of thing. Looking forward to a classic GL rant next week from you regarding your broadband fiasco. My fingers are crossed for a happy outcome with your provider.
The titles to your weekly LinL posts are so obviously worthwhile. They make it easy to find what you are looking for. Good move.
Thanks for the kind words, by the way.
Did you donate your hair? At least in Germany one can tell the hairdresser to collect it and send it to a wig maker, some hairdressers even will give you a cut free of charge. I’m almost certain that there is something like this in the UK. There is one restriction though, the hair must at least measure 20 cm (about 8 inches). Several years ago my son let his hair grow on purpose. When it had the length required, he went to the hairdresser, donated the hair and had an iro. Funny thing is that he is an altar boy and at the time he served at a wedding. Somebody I knew, a local policeman, who was standing behind me during the mass, commented that he surely must be one of his “clients” 😉 . Nowadays he has his hair dyed green and yes, he still serves as altar boy. On seeing him the church organ player commented that he was looking like an angel. And surely he was, with a halo of green hair. Something quite similar to your half cut look and yes, it also looks like a halo, only in your case a white one.
I truly appreciate the information given so freely on this blog, thanks for the good read!