Hair today, gone tomorrow

Trust....
When your Dad tells you it is perhaps not the best idea to leap off of the shed roof dressed as Batman, you trust that it is good advice..as a young boy trust in your Dad was without question...
Trust that eating greens will make you strong....
Trust that it's a fantastic idea to squelch to school covered in a veritable slick of camphorated oil to fend off all known cold germs and other associated nasties...
Trust that washing up will give you 'man-hands
Trust that the new Raleigh Chopper was a death trap, and that only pansies would want one for Christmas...
And trust that he could cut hair as good as Parker The Barber, and save 7 shillings in the process......
When the small package arrived early in 1968 I showed zero interest;nobody sent me parcels, and what could be of interest to me in such a Smalll delivery?
I should have paid attention, and run as fast as my legs could carry me.
Had I only known....
My Dad opened the package with quite some glee, and then introduced me to the latest family budget saving device.....it was a yellow plastic comb, which cleverly opened to allow a razor blade to be dropped inside.
It looked lethal.
What was worse, he was keen to break it in, and within seconds I was sat on a chair, and he set to work with his considerable lack of barberesque skill.Looking back I am sure his hair-styling experience was limited to reading Sweeney Todd a few times, and perhaps over zealousness in peeling the spuds.
Peeling spuds...he used the same technique...in just five good minutes he had hacked my hair to reveal actual skin in some places, with small untouched tufts in others...I recall him standing back to view his handicraft, and then step forward once again to strike again, and again, and again, until he at last admitted defeat, and that yes, there was a certain knack to it, and that a few more haircuts over the next few months would leave him with a better idea of how to get it 'looking good'....
I checked in the mirror, and I can still see the image before me..a strong resemblance to a baby owl came to mind.
Looking good?...Looking good?....talk about optimism, there was nothing on earth that the Barbo-matic, or whatever it was called, could every leave anyone looking good.I went to school on the Monday looking dreadful.....even the spuds would have complained!
I look back now with fondness, I can honestly say it was one of the worse experiences of the 60's....one minute a Paul McCartney look-alike, the next a a baby owl....
Squawk.....