Now, as the tentacles of the VAT Inspector of Doom entwine themselves around your nether regions with all the tenacity of a… a… a very tenacious thing indeed, it is time for me to come up with another one of these… whatever they are… for this… this… whatever it is.
This seasonal quiet period on the farm will soon be over. Already the adverts for putative holiday destinations are beginning to appear on the TV sets and in the glossy magazines that so beguile the hairdressers as they discard the tinsel, glitter and unwanted boyfriends of the festive season. It is almost time for them to start uttering this year’s fashionable psychobabble, perhaps something about finding themselves, empowerment, meaningful relationships, self-actualization or some other shallow little epigrammatic nonsenses that can almost sound superficially profound whilst at the same time remaining trite and meaningless.
As you know, these are the preferred modes of discourse for such creatures as hairstylists. Not that these utterances actually mean anything, of course, they are mere grooming* talk, in a way, subtle charms that soothe the existentialist dread that even hairstylists are sometimes prone to.
*For most of those who have studied this species, it is seen as no co-incidence that hairstylists whose very existence is predicated on almost continual grooming-type activities should be so adept at this ‘grooming’ talk too.