It's February. Time for my hair cut.

Well, the snow has finally hit Aber, but because its actually never that cold here in comparison with most of the country, there is now no evidence whatsoever. So tomorrow its time to head for the hills and play.

Today however, I went for a hair cut. Now i'm pretty sure that I have not had haircut in at least 12 months, and probabbly more like 18. So my barnett was looking a little ragged. Most of the time, my hair status is controlled by my mum and my girlfriend. However, these two agents differ in their opinions somewhat as mum likes my hair short, where as Liz likes it long. And as Liz is the girlfried, she gets power of veto over my mother. Most of the time, this dosn't bother me. I never see my hair. However, when it gets to a state where I struggle to put my helmet on or my vision becomes furry upon leaving the shower, the I knwo its getting a bit out of hand. So I had a hair cut.

The only problem is that the barber I went to has some sort of filter on his ears. No matter what you say to him all he hears is "short back and sides". No, infact it's "very short back and sides". So 20 minutes later and I was £8 and 8lbs lighter. So if you see me in the next day or so, be prepared for a shock.