The big short

Hair, there and everywhere

My hair came back from Barbados with a serious case of identity crisis; it simply refused to believe it was no longer in Barbados.

I can’t blame it. My name was on the plane ticket and even I can’t believe I’m no longer there.

Since I hadn’t cut my hair in nearly six months, two weeks of sun, heat and swimming in the sea amounted to about two years of damage. So about a week ago, I decided it was time to live up to my promises to myself and cut it short.

Paris, baby!

There are only a couple of things in life that will get me out of bed before six in the morning. Writing is one. A ticket on the 07h45 TGV to Paris is another.