John is an excellent friend.
He's a good host: he provided an extra bed in his room in Bankside so that I didn't need to worry about today's tube strike, since the residence hall is walking distance from LSE. He is letting me use his internet connection and ethernet cable. Furthermore he endorses lack of impulse control when I am whim-driven.

So when I decided to cut my hair about an hour ago, and discovered hair scissors in my toiletries bag, he didn't exactly egg me on but didn't take on a voice of reason role either.



And, after fixing the back somewhat, he took a picture so you can see the back and front simultaneously:


Bye bye, hair.


This may be a "London and I have started seeing other people" sort of breakup haircut. I may seek professional help (to even up the ends, or go shorter) on my return to Bristol.

Edit: John said that first picture was kind of titillating. He made an "rrrrr" noise. And I don't want it to be titillating! So because this is the internet, I am going to overexplain things and say I was wearing a tank top because I didn't want to get hair on my tshirt. So don't read too much into that. It's not a bra.
- posted by Christina @ 9:08 pm