So I called in Man Friday to finish it off (in case I made it any worse and veered towards Sinead O'Connor). He couldn't stop laughing and said I looked like a rather aged boy, thank you very much.
Now, when I cut it, it was wet. So I thought, oh balls, to the doctor's scabby head advice and blow dryed it. And then I looked in the mirror. Dear oh dear, talk about if Henry V had a perm.
Here is the picture of me:
And here is Henry V, apres perm (looking as if he'd lost a schilling and found sixpence); and I'd like to assure readers that he very, very rarely is seen without a full mug of make-up - so no getting scared now:
I dunno about the armour: not sure if stripey blue and pink knitwear cuts it on the battlefield.
I think I accidentally took off about four/five inches of me hair. And I've got bloody Man Friday swanning round the gaff, with his luxuriant locks (dropping 'em in the soup and clogging the plughole, moan, moan!). He's looking so much more like this:
Except wearing a MotorHead tee-shirt.