Its my birthday eve today. As a celebration for my last day of 27 years of age, I did the most adventurous thing I have done since Monday, which was leave the house. It was for a purpose too, which was to get my haircut as my barnet was starting to resemble something only seen on obscure members of bands that no one remembers the names of, or an unkempt Thundercat. There was a time when I would have done anything to be a Thundercat. Probably Tygra because he was clearly gonna get some with Cheetara and she was hot. For a half cat half human hybrid. Actually when you think about it like that it all seems a bit wrong. Especially because male cats have barbed genitalia. This is hopefully an issue that will be dealt with in the upcoming CGI movie which they will no doubt ruin and kids will grow up with a scarred image of 80’s goodness forgetting all the morals of television programs and the miner’s strike. Anyway I no longer want to be Tygra and the hair had to be dealt with.
Going to get my haircut is always a more stressful experience than it should be. The lady who always cuts it does a great job. However, the job she does is with a razor blade, the old school way. This wouldn’t matter too much, but she is from the Ukraine and has expressed a few times that the only comedy she likes is ‘like slapstick, like when people get hurt’. I’m sure that’s not what she means, but my imagination can only stray to thinking that she is some sort of KGB spy, and one day she’ll use that razor for information. While I’ve always found small talk in the hairdressers tough, I can literally only manage a ‘hello, how are you?’ before the fear kicks in and I just stare at my own fat neck praying she wont cut it. Apparently she used to cut Ricky Gervais’s hair when she worked near Victoria. Part of me hopes that is a subtle sign for my impending fame, while the more pessimistic and hateful part wishes she’d cut his throat just after the Office had finished.
Had she slit my throat today though, I would have been able to joint the 27 Club along the with the likes of Jimi Hendrix, Janis Joplin and Kurt Cobain. The chances of my surviving until tomorrow are fairly high, so I will have to cancel my membership for now, although my lack of musical ability probably counted me out some time ago. I wonder if I tap some spoons for long enough today then take a few paracetamol tonight I might be able to become an off peak member? Not loads of paracetamol mind you, just enough for a headache. If there is a club for every age that someone dies at then surely my great aunt who is part of the 103 Club is the winner for living longer. Admittedly the last few years of her life weren’t really classed as rock and roll. Yes there might not have been booze and drugs but she did have lots of tea, and lots of drugs, only they were for other purposes than making her high. Only 75 years to go till the glory days.