A close shave

Dancin'...in row Z

On commentary, David Lloyd said “what is it about cricket matches that makes people want to dance?”

England were dominant and the Barmy Army (the only military unit whose recruitment offices I'd remotely interested in visiting) were in full cry, trumpeter (a much better one than usual, or the same one but after some more lessons) and all. The camera cut to two India supporters, both guys in their fifties, who had just gone: “sod it, we're getting beaten, maybe today, maybe tomorrow, there's a shedload of mad English people with their shirts off having a sing song...so...let's join in and have bit of a jig about.”

If only the pompous asses would take the down elevator from their ivory towers, they would see that the salvation of the world lies not in the debating chambers that still see most people struggling for food and water and shelter and survival after thousands of years, and not in houses or worship, but on the playing fields.

I'm saving the planet...

...or assisting in a small way. I've gone full cycle with shaving kit.

I started shaving with a simple implement. You put a blade in the metal holder. When the blade was blunt you replaced the blade (and only the blade). Then, when we knew no better, Bic said “why just throw the blade away? You need these. You can throw the whole thing away. That's better and more responsible.” More money for Bic, that's all those things meant. Then came the two blades are better than one. The first blade lifts and the second shaves closer still. There was even a scientific-looking cartoon graphic thing on the adverts. What could be better? Better than two blades? Eh?

So there were three blades. Then five. They didn't bother with four along the way. I ended up with a five-bladed vibrating space-gun with a AAA battery and enough bells and whistles for a carnival of epic proportions. Then the battery ran out and I used the last blade and realised that, along with the bottles of twelve year old single malt and the tellies, packs of refill blades had security tags. The idea is that you buy another one, because the blades are prohibitively expensive.

Next stop, Amazon. £3.50. Back to the original single blade and non-disposable razor. I'm cutting myself to pieces but getting as close a shave as I was with the bells and whistles.

I was also frightened of the next step along that road, a razor with so many blades that it resembles a cheese grater that stays still (such is the bulk of the thing) that you slide your face up and down, while it vibrates, rotates, whistles Dixie and de-fluffs your navel.

In the ultimate retro-shave experience, I'm going to try the real old-fashioned way. I'll let you know how that goes, unless the blood-loss stops me typing.