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I decided to go for short in the end. If I’m narked by my hair now, I’ll be even more off with it by the time it’s been on the page six months and still looks the same. So, charged the clippers overnight and cut it when I got up. Never a particularly good time for such a delicate operation - especially not when it’s for a new pic in the magazine - because of all the stick-up tufts the pillows insist on making, and the bleary-eyed mirror manoeuvres, which are far from easy. Still, I think I got away with it. After careful inspection I’ve not come across any missing chunks.

PDPD (Post-desktime PR drinks) at half sixish down in Holborn, which delayed the gym. When I got round to Kevin’s to pick him up he was already clock-watching, worried he’d miss the start of Sex and the City (or, for some inexplicable reason, Essex Wives on the other side). So, it was a fairly truncated session, but worth it nonetheless, and we made a pact to repeat it tomorrow, albeit with more conviction.

It was a great time to be at the gym. By the time we left, touching on half ten, there was the two of us and three others and nobody else. Quiet, relaxed, really quite pleasant. I could get used to going at that time of night if it wasn’t so inconvenient.

Came home to find a chunky envelope from my accountant on my doormat. Inside it was a rather terrifying tax bill. Seems my original estimates had been below, rather than above what I’d been due to pay. This, combined with my annual season ticket and the bill for the bathroom work booked for tomorrow all arriving in the same month puts a new slant on the possibilities of Russia by train.

Time to do some adding up - and subtracting.

This entry was posted on Wednesday, January 22nd, 2003 at 11:31 pm and is filed under Journal. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.