Dr Neil Oliver is another of these hair-in-mouth windswept clifftop presenters. I always wonder what’s in his bag. A ton of hairclips no doubt. Speaking of hair in mouth, with the house move I’ve not been able to have my hair cut since the end of June and no one likes a hairy northerner, cf Melvyn Bragg. There’s not been a chance. Every time I set out to get it done, something crops up. It’s been going on so long I decided to get it done and let every one else work around me for once.
I booked it and yet I had to wait 15 minutes while a member of staff had hers done while she talked about a “coarse hair” she’d found (probably in her mouth) and other delights such as itchy knickers. I was not best pleased, but I came through the wait without standing up and announcing that I had an urgent appointment with a sick bag. When I get my hair done in a barbers I have to listen to some guy talk about his success at conceiving. Hairdressers are usually a bit better than that. It maybe no surprise that this hairdresser is just down the road from the beautician who inspired Mr-Croc-in-a-Blanket.
Speaking of stories. I’m working on these two specimens that go back years. Probably 2006 in one case. I call it the Story of One Man’s Endeavour, and the other’s a hardboiled crime thriller that fits on a postage stamp. Each time I return, one small thing needs changing which makes me want to leave it again to see how it pans out, or not. I like to submit stories on Wednesdays, it’s statistically my most successful day. Editors have worked through the weekend backlog and they’re not heading to the golf course or whatever just yet. So I fire away. Let them have it.
Filed under: Creative Writing