It was an eventful last few days of school.  The madness began a couple of days before the end of term for me (the lovely Sharon still has a couple of days to work).  I sat down to do my usual hair cut.  I do it myself, as a number 3/4 shave is not that difficult and can easily be done with only a mirror.  I usually do my best and inevitably miss a couple of wee bits right at the back and either side of the top of my neck.  The hair is so fine that the trimmer never seems to be able to cut them.   I resigned myself to the fact that I needed help and called upon the lovely Sharon.  I removed the number 3 attachment and passed her the trimmer.  I asked her to carefully trim the stubborn bits.  Patiently she gently held my head and moved in.  I could not see her but I imagined her tongue sticking out and the look of concentration that I myself reserve for using scissors.

Silence

Then she gasped, stepped back, then cried; “oh no!”  Then she actually began to cry.  I thought to myself ; This can’t be good.  Then I waited to see if I felt faint, maybe she hit a blood vessel?

I demanded a second mirror immediately.  She simply kept crying and muttering ; “oh no, oh no, I didn’t mean it, I didn’t mean it”.  This really can’t be good.  I lined up the mirrors to reveal a 2 inch by 2 inch square of hair had been very neatly removed from my head.

To be honest I think the lovely Sharon was much more upset than me.  It is only hair, and it helped that I only had 2 days left till the end of term.  It seems that hair is a much more serious issue to girls than it is to boys.  There was only one solution:  a number 1 trim all over my head to attempt to distract from by bald patch.  And it seemed to work.  For the last two days of school, no one made a fuss of my bald patch, but instead made a fuss of my number 1 haircut.  On the first day of ‘the haircut’ I sat in the office doing the cover and a senior teacher walked in and instantly commanded me to go to Mr D as I was being sent straight home.  Then on the last day it did not help when the head of year 8 announced to the students that this was my last day and I would be leaving to join the marines.  Year 8s’ came to me all day asking me why I had not told them.  They even made me a leaving card and got everyone to sign it.

number one