A few days ago I was spending time with son no.2 as we wandered around our Warwickshire town when he sprung (when I say sprung I mean, expecting me to pay) the idea that he would like a hair cut and a beard trim. Okay I said, looking up at my Anglo-Saxon warrior who had obviously not seen port for a while.
We entered the hairdressers, always the finest place you could ever think of taking a bald woman, and son no.2 explained the depth of his makeover. I smiled, the hairdresser looked a little startled and then she set to work.
She sheared his head, I was humming Ba Ba Black sheep at the time, I’ve seen less fleece coming off a sheep, which took five minutes and then spent half an hour taming the beard.
I must say I think he looks great. It is interesting to watch makeovers like that on your children regardless of age, there is always a new appraisal situation going on in your conscious mind as the child becomes less of a boy and more of a man, be the haircut at five or twenty-four.