grumpyf1

It comes to all men eventually. We unwittingly enter the hitherto unknown domain of the ladies hairdressers, and our lives are unrecoverably damaged by the experience. I’d done remarkably well to manage well over 40 years without going through this life-altering adventure, and it happened so easily. Back when it was summer (you know, that bit where it was really hot for a few weeks and didn’t rain), I thought it would be preferable to sit in on Mrs G’s hair-coiffuring in the air-conditioned calm, rather than wander round in the unfamiliar heat, looking at things in shops that I couldn’t afford. The place was chilled so effectively, the furnace-hot world outside started to be a hazy memory. It is just possible that the miasma of assorted hair sprays might have caused the pleasurable feeling of detachment from the real world – perhaps that was part of the nefarious plan also. This, of course, made it a thousand times worse when I did eventually escape. In this last bastion of ...