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It is great to be able to listen to Radio Four live via the Internet. Isn’t technology a wonderful thing? I am a little worried though about BBC Radio Four’s You and Yours programme. I have just been listening to a report about the hair extensions industry. As people know I am no expert on hair but I do have a passing interest in the matter. Quite reasonably I am required in insist that those students who have long hair at my school keep it tied back. The BBC report was a marvel of the modern age in that thanks to advances in technology hairistas are now able to grade the quality of hair supplied and put those seeking extra hair in contact with those wishing to shed theirs via the medium of fixer-on-ers and fixer-to-ers. As well as dazzling the intrigued listener, me included, with science (I learned that Chinese hair is apparently of poorer quality than Euro-hair) it also bombarded me with opportunities for morality purchases. One fitter assured me that his business was Britain’s leading supplier of “ethically sourced hair.” Yes, you read it right. “Ethically sourced hair.” What the hell is “Ethically sourced hair?” More concerning though what is hair that is not ethically sourced? Are packs of dodgy harvesters roaming the darker, more shaded streets armed with fully charged hair-shavers on the look out for the hirsute? Are hard up students deliberately sacrificing their follicles in exchange for pot-noodle vouchers? Or are there secret greenhouses in which row upon row of people stand in buckets of fertilizer for months at a time while their hair grows to the required 16 inches minimum length? The report continued with a recording of this fine man’s business as envelopes of hair that were sent in were graded, weighed and allocated a purchase and sale price. Maybe I should get more involved in the whole business I certainly enjoyed the puns? The BBC assured us listeners the hair-extension industry is growing exponentially.
Gone tomorrow refers to the latest losses by son number one. Poor old Edwin has recently been dogged by bad luck and bad memory to the tune of lots of water bottles and hats. Today the great man hit a rich vein of form. He managed to mislay his lunch box, with sandwiches inside. Next he carefully left his library bag, containing library books and daybook / planner on the school bus. Finally he managed to leave his RM50 book token for winning the best-dressed boy competition during Saturday’s Halloween festivities on the stairs at home while he and I set off to Tesco’s to go and spend it. I took pity on him and turned round to go back and get it. Any tips on expanding his memory would be much appreciated.
And now over to sport. My duties in this year’s sports day require me to help supervise the high jump. Resisting all attempts to write puns about this arduous task (Robin is getting ready for the high jump, raising the bar, aiming higher etc.) I can safely declare that I know absolutely nothing about the high jump in its athletics form. I will make sure that I do my best but I fear that my best will be limited to making encouraging noises as the various competitors seek to straddle or perform the perfect Fosbury Flop. I did volunteer, cautiously, for the staff house relay, the final event of the day. I can run for the bus with the best of them and I have even been known to play football too. However I did not realise that the staff-house relay is a matter to be taken seriously. My head of house did offer to allow me to have a run-off with the other two volunteers, an expert body-builder and a sleek athlete. As I was planning to simply tuck my tie into my shirt, don an old pair of trainers, known as “Doing a Doughty” after a former colleague who perfected this approach, and stagger round the required distance I suppose I have had a bit of lucky escape! Following Mr Doughty’s philosophy simply means that if you turn up in all the right kit then people have an expectation that you will be some sort of expert. If you look like a hopeless case then when do actually perform to a standard that is athletically crap no one is surprised and people are usually pleased to cheer you as a plucky under-dog. Nevertheless my very own brand of athleticism is ready just in case the call comes.