BBQ’s, (still) no car, Recess, and how a haircut can really change a guy

It’s BBQ weather comrades… and I’ve just seen a bald Tory boat shoe wearing royalist with a henry lloyd jumper thrown over the shoulder having a stern stare-off with a pack of council estate hoodrats. The hoodrats were sitting on deck chairs in a car park brewing up a BBQ, whilst he’s just parked the Tesla in one of them cute houses on the street next to The Boileroom – if you know Guildford you know where I’m at – one of them shoebox houses that would set you back about 800k a brick just cause of the Surrey tax, you know? Still would probs be my favourite place to live here though, proper nice street that one.

The sun can fix a lot of things though no? I feel like it makes most things a lot more bearable. Don’t like jumpers? Cool… it’s sunny, who needs a jumper?? Don’t have a car because you got ripped off by Mon Car Garage Llangefni? Cool… you can bike to the train station at 7am and watch the sunrise – no problem. Until you get a flat tyre that is…

It happened to me on my commute in to work the other day, not gonna go into great depths here because you’d have seen it all over my Instagram story. But it happened and we dealt with it, you know? You just gotta take what life throws at you and bat it away.

I’ve always thought BBQ’s were overrated… yeah I said it. I think it’s a bit of a façade, we’re more attracted to the “vibes” than the taste you know? (what a quote that is by the way) – print it and put it on a t-shirt. But yeah, BBQ food just tastes like burnt, and you’ll always get an unwanted appearance from a wasp. I’d much rather sit inside eating marmite on toast. Boring aye… uncultured etc etc

Still biking in though… it’s cool, I like the train. It has it’s positives, I can pee whilst moving, and I find I get a lot of inspiration on the train. Enough time to think you know? There’s negatives too mind, like don’t you hate when the train’s too full so you have to stand in the bike storage place, crammed as fuck… one of three things always happens in that scenario:

1.       The phantom farter (usually me) – obvious one, someone guffs and it’s a total wipeout, everyone’s mentally blaming eachother, doing that awkward disapproving eye contact thing but we’re all stood still in dead silence afraid of confrontation pleading that the next stop comes soon so that you get an ounce of fresh air. This was worse during COVID times… you’d think a mask would keep a fart out, but in reality it just trapped it inside reflecting off the walls of your mask and your mouth, a bit like the fart version of Space Invaders. Nightmare scenario.

2.       The dislocated knee – You’re holding on for dear life, you’ve got hold of the sturdiest thing you could find, the railing (preferably), someone’s boob (un-preferably) (depends who you ask) (and who’s boob), or the toilet door handle. The train accelerates suddenly, you all shudder but your feet remain planted because there’s too many bodies in the compartment, but there’s just enough space so that there’s enough movement meaning you feel the impact of an elbow. Your knee goes, you’re secretly wincing, nobody else knows you’re in pain, awkwardly trying to regather your stance, it goes again, then it’s an endless cycle of dislocation and discomfort. This has never happened to me - but who’s to say it won’t? Put more seats on trains I say.

3.       The over-eager passenger – There’s always that one guy… you know the one… he’s determined to find a seat, or determined on making a seat out of anything. Coke can? Seat. Arm rest? Seat. Luggage container? That’s a fine-looking seat. NO. If there was a spare seat, we wouldn’t be standing would we, you fucking SHMUCK. It’s always a rookie businessman on the way to London trying to look more important than he is… desperately searching for a seat so he can open up excel and smash buttons in an attempt to impress the fine looking silverfox with the sharpest 3 piece suit. Shut up man, just stand there looking into space like the rest of us… how dare you try make a career for yourself!!!!

Anyway, thankfully none of these scenarios have come true for me recently. Although I did get a seat next to a peeping tom the other day, or a peeping Sheila (girl equivalent) (it’s not but I just made it a thing)… usually I don’t wanna sit next to randoms, just because of the potential risks that it poses… you know? Smelly breath, heavy breather… you know, all the breath related problems you can run into on a daily commute to work. But anyway, I had my seat, and the night before I was googling the Recess characters (because Leah asked me which one reminded me of her) (Mikey for those interested). And I opened up my Safari page to search something irrelevant, you know like when the coronation was or how long the Cenozoic era lasted, and I still had all the Recess characters up on my phone, I catch the lady to my right side-eyeing a glimpse of my screen. Doing the eye roll as if my google searches were 1) any of her business and 2) a burden to her. Let me tell you something… you’re lucky it wasn’t the private tab ey! Cause nobody wants to see that on a Wednesday morning.

Got a barnet trim the other day… trimmed a couple inches off the ol’ bonce you know? The noggin’ got a seeing to etc etc

A Bulgarian woman it was that done it… good job too. I’ve always got this theory that a good barber cuts hair to the shape of the head, not the hair – does that make sense? there’s probably a better way to describe this but you know what I mean? My head REQUIRES a low skinfade, I like the sides BALD and I mean BALD, I want it like cut throat razor bald, I’m talking Charles Bronson meets Dwayne Johnson… that kind of bald. But it has to be low, an inch or so above the ear, and if you don’t know how big an inch is then I’ll just show you a picture of my pen…lid.

Keep it low, do it slow, you know? If there’s any barbers reading (Gav) (safe travels to Peru laa) - YOU’VE GOTTA CUT TO THE HEAD!

This woman was giving me the scientific breakdown of my headshape and what types of haircuts would suit me… how I should style it etc etc – that’s the service you expect you know? Like you don’t go to a chippy and expect to be served a mashed potato? You want a bag of chips. GIVE THE MAN A BAG OF CHIPS. And if you can add the salt & vinegar… then all the better.

I think it’s time we demand more from barbers. I said it… It’s something I’ve always had a love / hate relationship with… the great British barber. I think we need to do something about it… if you’re not happy, assert yourself, educate the barber, the barber needs to take the criticism, I’m not saying don’t pay for the service… because after all… you go to a chippy, ask for a bag of chips, get the mashed potato… you’ve still got a mashed potato you know?? That needs to be paid for before you leave the premises… but the point I’m trying to make is… it’s your choice to leave with the mashed potato, or with the bag of freshly cooked, evenly salted & vinegar’d chips. Make the right choice. I know what I’m leaving with.

Isn’t it mad though how a good haircut can make you feel a million bucks. You’re not a million bucks, but you feel it. And that’s ok.

Nothing else is new just yet… it’s a toss-up between a Sunday roast or Wagamamas for dinner tonight. Two very different sides of the coin there, I know. Had an Indian for dinner last night, so might have to play this one safe – if you know what I mean? Takeaway heaven for Lukey two dinners this weekend innit, but can I just let you know something? I don’t care.

We’ll wrap it up there for this episode m’dudes. See ya in two weeks!

xxx