Out for a duck

This should not look like a sexy duck to you.

I've been trying to learn a new thing every day, and today I was worried that, stuck at my desk with nobody but a database to talk to, I'd learn nothing. Luckily, I had a 9pm haircut scheduled, and the garrulous barber cutting my hair told me that Salvador Dali had sex with ducks.

Haircut and a shave

Today I went back to Hound of the Baskervilles for a haircut and a beard trim; it's been almost six weeks since I last addressed the hair on my head, and in the warm humidity of Singapore it grows quickly.

Haircut and a shave, 2 cents

I had three haircuts last year; it's not that I don't care about my hair, but because I don't have to look at it very often, it's not really a priority for me. However, I glanced at my reflection in a shop window the other day, and saw a mullet developing: this has happened before, but this time round I feel too old for it to be ironic. Time for the chop.

Back

This morning I woke up with my back crimped in agony, either the result of carrying the television down the street last night, or (more likely) spending all afternoon and most of the evening slouched on the sofa. Bad posture makes martyrs of us all.