I have always believed that if you're feeling a bit unhappy or dissatisfied with your life, the thing to do is not to look into your soul to attempt to discover the root cause of your problem, but is instead to make some kind of cosmetic change in your outward appearance to see if that's what was making your life stink all along.
So when I've been fat I've thought, "Everything would be OK if only I was thin" (and as the pounds have fallen away with no discernable spiritual improvement, I have slowly began to eat and drink more again, so that I can still believe that things would have worked out if only I'd stuck with it), and when I had a beard I decided that maybe the absence of facial hair would sort my life out for me.
Given that neither of these things have worked, I have come to the logical conclusion that all my problems with commitment and prevarication over the last few months must have been down to the length of my hair. Of course, if I had short hair then I would not only become attractive and interesting, but I would easily be able to come up with some ideas for Edinburgh. It seemed certain that unlike Samson, my strength comes in not having any hair. And at the very least if I had short hair again it wouldn't flap in my face when I was running.
But when I got to the hairdressers, the camp Japanese man who was going to do the job, immediately commented, "Oh, what lovely long hair."
"I want to cut it all off," I protested.
And he pulled a face and said "Let me think about it."
In the end we agreed to take it back so that it no longer reached down beyond my shoulders, but to keep it a little shaggy at the back. I think this was the right decision.
I did feel a lot better about myself afterwards, proving just how superficial I am. And although all the women who passed me were apparently ignoring me, I knew in my heart that the minute they were behind me, they were turning round, open-mouthed, going weak at the knees and then probably lezzing up with each other to relieve some of the sexual tension that my hairstyle had caused. But I didn't look round to see them. I was going to play hard to get. With my new hair I could have any woman I wanted.
Also within minutes of my new hair cut I was starting to have fresh ideas for what I might do next professionally. I was getting quite excited about doing a modern day version of the 12 Tasks of Hercules (that I've mentioned in passing on here) and starting to think of other impossible or arduous things that I could attempt in order to emulate the ancient hero (one of his things was just cleaning out a stable, which he couldn't even be bothered to do himself. Instead he diverted some rivers through the stables, like some kind of comic cartoon character to save himself the bother).
I wondered if achieving 12 impossible things would make me overcome the sense of confusion I am feeling and give me a purpose and direction.
I guessed it probably would, as just getting my hair cut had made me feel a bit like that already.
By the time I went to bed I was less sure it was a brilliant idea, but the important thing was that I had started to think that maybe it wouldn't make a very exciting stage show (though it might be a good idea to go out and do a load of things that were scary or difficult anyway, just for me).
But at least my hair cut had spurred me on a little.
I think I'll go for a manicure tomorrow.
