I have had a haircut.
It is really, really short.
It is so short that even the other taxi drivers noticed, although in their favour they hardly laughed very much at all.
Most of my hair is less than a centimetre long, apart from a tufty bit on top which is probably just about a centimetre. Just.
I do not mind this at all, it means it will be a satisfactory , non-irritating length by the time Lucy gets married in November, whilst for now it is going to be very, very easy to towel dry.
It was not my usual hairdresser, who prefers the sort of hairstyles not favoured by the American marines, but a youthful enthusiast who was chatting so energetically that I think she did not notice that the haircut should have been over ten minutes previously, and just kept on snipping.
I was quite pleased with it all when she was done, although I have suddenly noticed the largeness of my ears and the fact that the world is a chillier place than I had previously noticed.
I had gone to Kendal for the haircut, and occupied the visit very fruitfully by popping in to the EE shop and signing us up for some new mobile telephone SIM cards. This would have been quite dull had it not been for the outcome that it took absolutely ages, and the three youths running the shop were utterly bored, and after a while we passed a very merry half an hour telling scurrilous stories to one another. I came away feeling thoroughly entertained, although completely unable to remember a single detail of the contract to which I had just set my name, which was mildly embarrassing when Mark asked me about it later.
Apart from the haircut it has very definitely been a day for this sort of administrative tedium. Quite apart from the mobile telephones, there was a telephone call from the accountant, wanting to know why I had transferred some cash into an account I did not recognise at all, and I spent ages on the telephone to Mark, agonising and trying to recall into which bank account I had been transferring all of our cash.
It is not a scam. I would have spotted it if six thousand pounds had suddenly disappeared all by itself. It is far worse than that. It is an absent-minded old lady tiddling about with the sort of telephone that lets you open bank accounts and then just transfer cash at the merest tweak of a button.
I have also spent all of the cash thus transferred, I am quite sure of that. If I have got any cash anywhere I am really good at remembering it.
After that came some forms from the estate agent, lots of them, although for some reason the really complicated one, the one wanting to know details about the central heating, got sent only to Mark.
Mark is the most dyslexic person in the family, although he is up against some competition for that role, I can tell you, and we had to spend most of this evening on the telephone whilst I helped him spell complicated things like Double Glazing.
I was not pleased. The assumption that the Man Of The House is the one to know about boilers made me feel most disgruntled, especially when they know perfectly well that he is not here and that I am doing all things sale-related.
All the same, he does know about boilers, I suppose, even if he can’t spell them.
On top of all of this tiresome detail I have been painstakingly creating Lucy’s wedding invitations, which should have been finished but haven’t been, and agonising over French houses.
We want to buy the one that I put in the picture to you, even though it is not cheap.
I have been thinking about it very hard.
We are going to go to France and look at it when Mark comes home.
That is going to be an adventure.
