It happens when I
travel. At some point, as my beard gets longer, I start looking like Kris
Kristofferson. I have to act quickly before it gets to the Santa Claus stage.
So I took advice, from
my daughter, Jess. “Get thee to a barber shop” she said, or something like
that. Then she gave precise instructions: for the beard: slightly longer than
designer stubble; for the hair: just longer than the beard and neatly trimmed
at the edges.
It seemed all so
precise and far better than my normal instructions: just cut it short. What I really wanted
to say was ‘just get me back to looking like George Cluny' but that probably costs a
bit more.
So while Sally went to
see her Rotorua basket lady I found myself a barber shop and entered in, armed
with my English accent. I had a lovely time. Nora and I - we will call her that
to protect her business – had a wonderful chat about siblings, aging parents,
staying in touch and ooh, lots of things. The rest of her waiting clientele
joined in too. Now and then she stopped to give someone a carton of eggs, which
seemed to be a side line of hers.
But the best thing is
that I did come out looking like George Cluny, or at least I think so and I
certainly felt like a million dollars.
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| Kris Kristofferson |
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| George Cluny - see the difference? |
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