A Mother's Day hair cut

So today is mothers day in our house. This will enable our mothers (mine and Mrs G's) the abilty to visit our fathers mothers tomorrow. That's complicated isn't it ? It's also daughters first day of training in the specials which she's been very excited about if a little tired (having only got in from work at 11.30 last night). Incidently last night went to plan. Quiet night in with a curry from the Balti Hut (local Unlicesed Indian restaurant) delivered a mere hour after it was ordered (not bad for a Friday night. Couple of glasses of vino, the rest of come dine with me, a couple of coronation streets and the endof casualty. Slthouh at this point I went up to bed and watch part two of the Eddie Izzard Marathon Man documentary which I'm finding quite fascinating.

So here we are on Saturday morning and there's many things to do. I really need to get a hair cut, have to pay a cheque into the bank and parents arrived for mothers day lunch at about 11.30 (although probably earlier because parent do that sort of thing).

We've then got to try and figure out how we are going to deal with the Aunty S situation this evening. She's taking her kids bowling with her new fella (who's very nice) but she hates bowling and wants us to come along aswell. On the surface this is fine, but. As you may have read, I've pursuaded Mrs G to go to the Cinema (a rareity in itself) and I don't want to let her down because I love her (obv). Of course we also like to be supportive of Auntie who's had a tough year - so what do we do? Well it seems my sister has decided she's taking the train down from Manc' to join us for lunch, so I'll have to take her to the station to get home at around 8ish - which is just too late for the bowling - but just early enough for the cinema. Hey Presto - Sister's are useful after all ;-)

.....and now for something completely different.....

Baked beans on toast. That was the last breakfast I had. Well that was the last meal I had actually. The last normal meal at any rate. Must be almost a month ago now. It seems so strange that the world we used to know lives on in our memories but in physicallity it's gone and will probably never return to what we knew just 4 short weeks ago.

.....that's got you interested hasn't it ?? :-)

more about that later. So here I sit in the barbers in a queue that's actually pretty short for a change. Often on a Saturday they're lined up outside the front door. And it really is a front door. It's a converted terraced house, pre war I shouldn't wonder. You enter through the front door and wait in the front room. The hair cutting takes place in the back room, what would have been the kitchen in days gone by. It's got the feeling that it's been here forever although in reality I would think early/mid sixties. There's seating for 9 in the lounge, but I've often been here when there's 15 blokes waiting to get a trim. This is down to two reasons. Firstly the price. £6.40 for a haircut really is a bargain especially when you consider most women think nothing of paying 70 quid. It always seems a terrible shame to take a perfectly good blonde head of hair and spoil it by dying the roots black - never understood that ;-). Secondly, the banter. Paul how owns the place and took over from his dad Gus is a friendly churpie chappie who's very knowledgeable on the subject of football and turns out to be a Queen fan (the group not the woman - although he's probably a royalist too). He has an eastern European sidekick who mans chair 2 and also carries the banter just as well as Paul although you have to listen carefully to understand his accent sometimes. From here it will be the bank, the post office (mrs G needs a new passport) and then back in time for the inlaws and outlaws.

So the cheques paid in, picked up a copy of my eyesight prescription (figured I should get some new glasses, 2 pints of semi-skimmed and 2 passport application forms (because one will have mistakes made on it)

The post office has been refurbished since I last visited and very smart it looks too. This happened in July last year according to the nice lady that got the forms for me and quite frankly I don't believe her. I'm certain I've been in there more recently than that, but she was adamant. Turns out they are not allowed to have passport application forms on display and you have to ask fir them. Something to do with identity theft paranoia probably.

Standing in the queue at Sainsburys with the milk, the gent in front of me who had 3 bunches of flowers, turned round and offered for me to go infront of him. We then got into a lengthy conversation (which I showed interest in to be polite) about the fact that he was buying mothers day flowers on behalf of his daughter who is travelling around the south island of new Zealand in a camper van. Her return flight from LA is on April the 4th with British Airways who 's strike will have finished 5 days previuosly. He's separated from his wife, his daughters learnt to scuba dive off the great barrier reef, been bungy jumping and hammering his emergency credit card which he'll worry about when she gets home. He's clearly very proud of her (she'll be a changed woman when she gets back even at 23) and he's clearly not told enough people about it. Full of regret for not doing it himself when he was her age, but in my view if he had, he wouldn't be stood here telling me all about how wonderful his daughter is.
I do love the diversity of the human condition.

Right then. Time to go. 3 S's and the lunch with the mob.