Mrs The Millbrooker bravely let me near her with a brand new pair of shiny scissors on Sunday. After that she even more bravely let me plonk a large rubber thingy on her bonce and pull bits of hair through it with a crochet hook.
It's many a long year since I gave up hairdressing (sighs of relief all around as potential victims notice white cane), but I can still just about wield the old comb and blades without causing too much mayhem.
Once upon a time, a very young Millbrooker (who hadn't even heard of Millbrook, truth be told) was adjudged 18th best hair colourist in the west of England and Wales in a nationwide professional competition, I'll have you know. Ok, ok - eighteenth doesn't sound all that high, but that's out of the nearly two hundred who actually entered the competition, so I must have had something.
Leastaways - the result of Mrs The Millbrooker's extreme courage in the face of pain and potential trichological disaster is this:
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