Haircut 100........

By getting caught in the rain (promised for last evening, but arrived this morning) on the way back from the farm shop, I've now got slightly crispy, wiggly hair of immense and eighties-ish proportions - like a spiral perm and certainly odd, considering that I'm more a 'yard and a half of pumpwater' sort of a girl in the tonsorial department. Oh, to still have one of those rake-like combs from my teenage years. I could do a real Bananarama. What with The Boy channelling a slightly gay 'Tintin' quiff, following a bit of Pinnywearer barbering last evening, we are going to look a right pair tonight. Still, it's his fault really for seeing the haircut he's always wanted on a bloke on the Tube, coming home and vaguely describing it to me and then expecting me to cut it. As I'm more Sweeney Todd than Toni and Guy, despite many years of practice, I don't think I can really be blamed if people laugh at him in the street today. Not that they will, as he looks very cool (IMHO), but he's had the 'Russell Crowe Gladiator' for so long that it's going to take a bit of adaptation, not least because he's got to get used to using a bit of 'product' and sweeping it all back and across instead of forward and down. The double crown could prove a problem. Stupid spiral head.................

We're being taken out to supper tonight by the Flemings. They don't entertain at home like mere mortals - they go out. We don't know many people who do that except Mr Bursar and Little B (and perhaps Rich Little Bro, but he's never actually taken US out and paid). As it's our wedding anniversary, it's somewhat of an treat. We don't usually bother - never really have. Last year we weren't even together - he was here and I was in Belgium aan het studeren.

I had a great call from Pa last night. He was laughing so much that he could barely speak. The Runts and I have this 'parsimony/good husbandry' rivalry thing going on, seeing who can do most with the least - you know, I've got a mushroom and a rasher of bacon and five people have turned up for supper. Pa rang to tell me that their supper was going to take the biscuit as far as frugality and parsimony were concerned and that I'd NEVER in a million years be able to beat it. Mum took a pot of left over beef casserole from the freezer for supper last night, cooked and mashed the spuds whilst the casserole defrosted and heated up in the nuker, only to find, as she poured the casserole over the mash, that it wasn't actually casserole, but a bit of gravy left over from a lamb shank dinner. Gravy. No lumps, no meat, no nothing. Just gravy. The War Office would be proud.