Just a blow dry. Couldn’t be any simpler really. Started to be concerned when my hair was beginning to look like it does when I do it, which would be well, not hair exactly, rather a ball of blonde fluff. It’s great look if you want to stand in front of a light and pretend to be an angel, but not what I’d planned for this evening’s engagement party. Air-raid (or should that be hair-raid - sorry) sirens started piercing the soothing sound of blow driers when I heard, “Don’t worry, he’s a professional”.

Still, I gave him the benefit of the doubt - until he got to the front, at which point I realised that I really could do a better job of styling. It was around this point when my ‘professional’ was reassigned to someone else. I was told to wait a minute. So I did. In fact I waited four. Not a long time in the overall scheme of things, but in a hot hairdressers where hair needs to be styled before it dries, it’s kind of like quarter of a century.

So, for the second time in my life I walked out of a hairdressers with my hair half finished (or half started depending on how you look at it - and yes, I did pay for it).