I talk about yet another haircut.

I went to get my hair cut the other day when I was visiting Coventry over Easter. I really felt like I was cheating on my regular man, Sanjay. Perhaps I should send him a card and some flowers. He’s terribly nice, the only gentlemen’s barber I’ve ever tolerated small talk from. Such enthusiasm and attention to detail that you won’t normally find in a £6 haircut.

Clearly I have not been neglecting my hair like I have been neglecting my blog. Because if that was indeed the case I would look like the younger cousin of one of those execrable 118 berks. But, dear reader, I shall faithfully promise that from this day forth there will be more than just the occasional smattering of postage. My ambition is that one I will be able to manage several days in a row, but that does seem rather overstretching the thing at the moment. Every day (alright, perhaps once or twice a month), more illustrious bloggers than I have ever been fall by the wayside.

Perhaps it is that blogging has become an outmoded irrelevance in these hyperactive days of twitterising and tumblring and etcetera. But – and I shall endeavour not to spend every single opportunity going on about the state of everything – I intend to become a stubborn bastion of holding out until everyone else has long since got bored. I really must begin with my holiday to Argentina. It’s going to be at least a few weeks until I can write about a haircut again.