As is the case for most people, it has been a while since I had a haircut.
Not that this is anything new, I’m more than a little familiar with the ‘unkempt’ look. It’s kind of my style really.
Still, even by my standards I’m looking less kempt than usual. It doesn’t bother me, I don’t see anyone anyway. And I have a hat for the occasions I need to venture out.
And Mrs Proclaims says she likes my hair longer, so there’s no problem on the marital front.
Except that she wants to cut my hair.
Not because she thinks I really need a haircut, but because she just wants to play at being a hairdresser.
Now my wife has many talents, she is an exceptionally gifted linguist, a high-achieving academic and a wonderful mother to our daughter.
But she is not a hairdresser. And her claims that she wanted to be a hairdresser when she was a little girl don’t, in my eyes, qualify her for the job.
After all, I had dreams of being a rock star, but I won’t be headlining Glastonbury any time soon. And not just because the festival has been cancelled this year.
So I am refusing to let her cut my hair.
Some might call me belligerent, others may call me vain. And I’m fine with either of those labels – they both are fairly true.
But I’d still prefer to hang on a bit longer.
If nothing else, growing my hair a bit might help to establish more of a ‘rock star’ look, which could, in turn, secure me that headline slot at Glastonbury for 2021.