Football’s Coming Home

I went to a barber’s opposite my workplace in the week. My hair felt long and itchy, and the sun was blazing hot. I was served by an Eastern European girl. It was my lunch hour, and every minute counted. I asked for a trim- I never know what to say to barbers, except that I need a haircut, which obviously they must know.

 This time, she said: Which number? I was stumped. I’d been asked this before, again by Eastern European barbers. Is it meant to be the number of centimetres, and if so, is it the centimetres they take off or that they leave on? I said: Number one. The girl looked horrified. Her colleague explained to me that Number One was the shortest cut they made, it would leave me bald. Number Seven was the longest cut. I vaguely imagined that this would leave me looking like Michael Bolton, so I asked for Number Four.

Well a Number Four haircut is pretty much a crop. I don’ think my hair has ever been so short since I was in the womb. A Number One cut must be a scalping.

I’ve been trying to come up with a story since Christmas. I think I’ve only begun and finished one new piece of horror flash fiction. I’m trying not to panic.

Since I came back from a 3-day break in Dorset, things have been getting, well, sticky. The heat is rising, although my wife still insists on cooking roasts. The faces on trains are all dessicated. My work colleagues are beginning to go off on their holidays, leaving the rest of us short. This coincides with the time when all the arseholes are out in force. I finished work at eight o’clock last night, and if I’d had a machine gun, I think I would have opened fire. I keep asking God to take this rage away from me.

One f my colleagues has a partner whose cancer has come back. The partner now begins a new round of chemotherapy. I didn’t know what to say to my colleague the first time around. I’m truly stumped now. When I see my colleague’s bravery and quiet dignity, it certainly puts a lot of unnecessary stuff in perspective.

I bet on England to win the world cup. I knew full well it wasn’t going to happen, but I thought that they might have stayed in the competition for longer than they did. It wasn’t all bad news. I think, ironically, that England were better this time than they were in the last world cup. Wayne Rooney actually scored. They seemed to have more heart when they played, which was all I really wanted from them. Roy Hutchinson, as a manager, is an improvement. Frustratingly, though, it didn’t translate into goals.

Anyway, I made a bet on France at the same time…