As me and Betty are normally anti-social people, August is turning out to be a bit of a hectic whirl.
Apart from the bi-weekly visits to my old mum, a couple of weekends ago we met up with some relatively recent friends and this coming Saturday we're meeting a very old friend.
This has resulted in Betty cutting my hair twice in August. The hair had grown so fast down the back sides of my neck Betty informed me the grey monstrosities were beginning to look like Rhodes Boyson's sideburns.
I can't believe I used to spend money getting my hair cut. Once I pushed the boat out and went to Demop which was about as trendy as you can get in the 80s. It was so trendy I bet Robert Elms was a regular. The haircut lasted for as long as it took to wash it out the same evening as I'd had it cut.
I went for a while to an old fashioned barber's near Waterloo. Then I went for a while to an old fashioned barber's near Covent Garden. Then I went for a while to a modern Gentlemen's barber's near Charing Cross. Then I went for a while to a local old fashioned unisex hairdresser's. Then I went once to the local place known as the Little Barber. He wasn't little, didn't even need to stand on a box, and he smoked like a chimney.
"Anything you'd like on your hair?"
"What, apart from all that ash?"
Then one day I bought some hair clippers and Betty's been doing a very good job ever since.
When I was very young and my mother took me to the barber's I refused to have my hair cut unless I was outside. So the barber wheeled the chair onto the pavement and cut my hair in full view of passers-by. I must have been a right little exhibitionist.
Have I really grown out of that exhibitionist streak?
Maybe I'll get the extension lead out next time.