By a very bizarre turn of events I happen to know the last time I went to a hairdresser. I’m guessing this is neither unusual nor important to most people. In my case, however…
During my first year at University the Sisters of Mercy played their tenth anniversary concerts in Leeds on the 16th and 17th February. The weekend before (which I calculate to be Saturday 9th Feb 1991) I went home to Cheltenham and had my hair cut at “His Nibs” as I always had every 3 months or so until then; just the usual crop so common to those of us with head-hair curlier than our pubes.
As it turned out that was my last haircut. I decided to let my freak flag fly from that moment on (your hair is, after all, your antenna) and have not crossed the threshold of a hairdresser since then.
This week, 2011, the Sisters play their 30th anniversary concerts at the same venue, and so I am reminded of my last haircut, twenty years ago this week.
The overwhelming question this raises is, of course, “can a man enter his forties with a ponytail?”
Answers on a postcard. please.