Falling unconscious: not something I recommend

It is relatively simple for anyone under 25 to get free haircuts, if you know where to look. You usually have to agree to some kind of modelling work (read: guineapigging) in return, but often this just involves having your haircut on a small stage in front of trainees or the press. Admittedly, last time it turned out to be a large stage in front of television cameras and 1500 people in some out-of-town conference centre on a Monday morning. But as it was paid, and you got free samples, and there were plentiful female models hanging around, it was ok.

In order to gain my next free cut (pencilled in for the beginning of May) I was required to turn up to the studios today, just off the Champs-Elysées, as a guineamodelpig for a traditional shave. I have always used an electric razor before, but there we are, you should do everything once, and if you don't try it you won't know whether you like it, etc etc.

At this juncture, a number of unfortunate things came in to play. Unfortunately, I had made the parallel mistakes of 1. not sleeping well the night before and 2. not eating much before going. Unfortunately, having someone take an open razor blade to your throat is not yet something I am entirely used to. And, unfortunately, it turns out that my throat is ludicrously sensitive. The blade was chafing against the skin and made a slight cut, next thing I feel is the blood suddenly draining from my face. This is a very weird thing to feel, by the way. Something was clearly Wrong, so I left for the toilets, and reached about halfway down the corridor before the legs went south. I got up and the last thing I thought was a sort of vague "hmm, that's not supposed to happen" before falling over again in much the manner of a new born giraffe. My consciousness was clearly looking for a break, and crashing flat on my face onto the wooden floor gave it the perfect excuse to get out for a bit.

Luckily for me, ye olde consciousness isn't used to the great outdoors, became homesick, and returned within twenty seconds or so, accompanied by an inexplicable headache and a great deal of people fussing around and foisting water and sugar in my direction.

I had a nice chat with the three secouristes who arrived to ask me whether I knew what day it was and whether me and my consciousness had a bit of a history. Luckily it was still Monday, and no, this was the first time we'd seriously fallen out with each other. I signed a piece of paper saying that I agreed I didn't need to be taken to hospital. At least, I think that's what it was. Pretty sure it wasn't a death warrant anyhow. And they went on their merry way.

So that was all fun and games. Having discovered where my legs were, I went to get the other side of my face shaved, thanked most of the people in the building just in case any of them had helped me, and prepared to leave - after all, a minor health incident didn't stop the fact that there were things to do. And it can't have been all bad because, as I was leaving, some dude I'd never seen before asked where he knew me from, I pointed out that he didn't, but perhaps he'd seen me in a concert; next thing he leaves me his details and says he wants me to be in a short fillum he's planning to make about a jazz pianist. Probably a dodgy geezer and I should have just taken his card rather than leave my coordonnées with a complete stranger, but then again I still wasn't feeling particularly together at this point*, so give me some slack.

*Shut it. All things are relative.

Went to the bank and discovered that the Esplanade des Invalides was playing host to some kind of classic car meeting. I am no huge fan of road vehicles generally (they are dangerous and smelly), but I can appreciate the merits of two hundred beautiful rally cars - Ferraris, Porsches, Alfas and Lamborghinis - all parked in the same patch at the same time. I didn't have a camera on me, but I can cheat:


This is much the same kind of business as was going on earlier on the Esplanade, except it wasn't raining, which was nice.

The rally turns out to be the Tour Auto Lissac and claims to be the oldest in the world. That's a piccy of last year's event. So know you now.

So that is what happened today, as far as I can tell. Perhaps understandably I have decided to have an evening in.