Death of the Mullet

I’ve got to go and get my haircut in a minute. I’ve been needing a chop and a snip for sometime now, but have been trying to leave it as close to going away as possible as I know I won’t be able to get it cut in Spain or Scotland. They don’t have barbers there. They just grow hair until it gets so long it just falls off. Maybe. What’s more likely is that I still trust my local scary lady from Kiev who cuts my hair with a razor and I don’t want to trust someone else to touch these locks. They are locks at the moment. I look like I’ve been thrown forward in time from the 80s, which oddly enough means I’m probably currently in fashion with much of the yoof. Perhaps I should leave it like this and don some jeans that look like they are trying to strangle my legs and some sunglasses that appear to be a joke but aren’t. I prefer the idea of just getting my hair cut. But which one to cut? Arf. Sorry. That was a clear dad joke. Its up there with when you trip over and my Dad says ‘have a nice trip? I didn’t get a postcard.’ That used to annoy me so much, as rare as it was that sturdy Douieb Jnr had a fall. When I was 9 and I fell over in our own house on nothing and the comment was made, I resorted to writing on the back of an old postcard that my fall was rubbish and glad you aren’t here. This did not stop the comment from happening again.

I did my last ever preview last night. It was the lastest time I will get to do my show before I head to Edinburgh for the slog of the fest. I had felt fairly confident about the show after the previous night and had hoped I might get a few crowds in from Twittering about it constantly. Sadly as I walked out onto the stage I could see the faces of every single person there, and I knew everyone. All 12 of them. Layla was doing my teching and accidentally left the house lights up, which I couldnt figure out for a while until it was far too late to turn them off. So I stared her parents, my cousin, and various friend and industry peoples in the face and went for it. I have to say I didn’t enjoy it as much as Tuesday. Its hard going from 70 people you don’t know to 12 you do. In fact I find it much harder to gig when people I know are in the room. It gives me horrible flashbacks to a Jongleurs try out I had where 5 minutes before I walked on stage I bumped into Layla’s sister-in-law’s sister (get your head around that), said hello then promptly walked on stage to die horribly for 10 whole minutes. However everyone seemed to enjoy it. There were some people there I hadn’t seen in ages like my cousin and my friend Casey, and there was also Layla’s parents which was worried me the most. Luckily they both were very complimentary and seemed to ignore the comments and jokes on not yet having married their daughter. I am scared this will be used against me at a later date. My favourite compliment was from the eldest Byrne brother, Stevie who just walked up to me afterwards, patted me on the arm and just said ‘you’ve got nothing to worry about’. Since then I have stopped worrying. Well mostly. There is still a bit of worry and I have a few things to tweak, but I’ve also got two whole weeks. Unfortunately in those two weeks I won’t be performing the show to anyone so I expect some random Spanish people will have to deal with an impromptu show next week.

More squash today with Craine. My knee is still sore from my sliding tactics last week so none of that. I do however have my Bjorn Borg headband which will come out in force, no matter how twattish I may look. Tom won’t see it coming and that headband will hopefully cause him to laugh so hard he’ll miss all shots making me the ultimate victor. Even more so than Victor Hugo. More victor than him.