About this blog

This is a window into the weird world of Anglicanism, as experienced on a Cathedral Close. Has anything much happened since Trollope's Barchester Chronicles? You will still see the 'canon in residence' hurrying across to choral Evensong, robes flapping, as the late bell chimes. But look carefully and you will notice he is checking the football score on his iPhone as he runs. This is also a writer's blog. It charts the agony and ecstasy of the novelist's life. And it's a fighter's blog. It charts the agony and ecstasy of the judo mat. Well, the agony, anyway.

Thursday 16 December 2010

Only Nine Days Left

Not long now. Done your cards? Sent your presents? Got that essential red table runner for your festive board? And more importantly, do you have your Christmas outfit sorted? Or are you still dicing with delusion, and hoping to lose a few more pounds and slip into something new, expensive and the next size down?

I have accidentally hit upon a way of losing half a stone. (That’s 7lb, for any Americans reading this.) Strictly speaking, it’s a way of appearing to have lost half a stone (3.18kg recurring for an Europeans, Australians and Kiwis reading this): get your hair cut off. A radical step, I know, but time is of the essence when you are trying to look hotter than everyone else. Or everyone else in your age and weight category. At 49, we no longer compete against all comers. This is where moving to a Cathedral Close is a smart move. I still pass as something of a fine young filly round here. (Am praying the chancellor doesn’t hear a call to university chaplaincy.)

So, the new barnet. (That’s hairstyle, for foreigners of any nationality reading this.) I now have what my stylist (Andy, Franceso Group, Walsall) describes as an ‘Eton crop’. Rather than an Eton Mess, which is what it was before (my description, not my stylist’s). As I rightly predicted, people have not noticed this radical and edgy new look. They have asked me instead if I have lost weight. Yes—off my hair.

I may post a pic at some stage. If I can find one that doesn’t make me look fat. Or like a slightly butch and frightening version of Julian Clary.

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