To my immense surprise, it actually looks okay. Patsington's flowing black curls had been getting out of control of late, as had his ferociously curly beard, and he gleefully ignored my pleas for a trim. But today - perhaps because it's his 30th birthday and he's throwing caution to the wind in his old age - he decided he wanted to be shorn, and so I obliged. Even though I've never actually cut anyone's hair before. And it was actually quite easy. I basically just copied what I'd seen hairdressers do for years, combing it out in layers and snipping away at angles, and lo, it worked! Perhaps my destiny is to be a self-trained hairdresser. I shall have to start wearing all black and getting my hair arranged in an outlandishly impractical style. Although I think if I was faced with someone with straight hair who cared horribly what their hair looked like, I would a lot less blase about the whole business.
Also, sweeping up lots of hair (which Patsington somehow managed to shake all over the house)? Is not fun. Perhaps I shall stick to my day job after all.