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Don’t shoot

20 September 2013

I don’t shave that often. I’ve a mirror in front of the sink like most homes and I suppose I look at my face but I don’t think about it beyond finding it familiar. Usually I use a shaver but sometimes it goes too far and shaver becomes plucker. So I’m looking for my razor blades but my son must have been pinching them. For all the nanograms o chin fluff he produces I don’t know why he bothers. No matter how many I buy I never get to use them. Anyway he’s away to Uni now so I can relax; away to Asda to try to buy a new razor. I’ve nae idea which handle goes with which blade they’ve all got different names no wonder everyone’s going around with beards. I used to think it was terrorist chic but I now know it’s the terror of buying a handle/ blade mismatch. I end up buying one that’s got six blades with it , at least I’ll get six shaves, that should do me for a year. Apparently they are the most nicked thing, razor blades. Kind of dashes any idea of scruffy shoplifters, they’re actually quite well groomed. Maybe they have to be to get away with their trade. Maybe they pinch them for their debonair mates or sell them on the street. I’ve never been offered any.
‘Here, hisst, pal, chief, want to buy some quality razors blades at an affordable price?
‘Hmmm weeell’
‘Hydro five, power select, power needs control for ultimate comfort?’
‘Oh go on then you’ve sold it’
Anyway I bought this one out of Asda, Son comes back for the weekend, opens the brand new packet and starts using them! Mental.
We’re out picking a lot of apples for Cairno cider at the moment. Look out for us in a tree near you. Don’t shoot

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