Harmless hair do makes me blue!

IT’S the summer holidays , so you do owt to amuse the kids and have fun.

This week , amongst other things, me and me boys decided to dye our hair blue. It was an act of controlled rebellion worthy of a middle class student from the late Seventies; the sort who bought M&S bondage pants with the rips and safety pins already added at a factory in Runcorn.

We weren’t challenging the foundations of western liberal democracy, demanding a second referendum or pushing back globalisation – we just wanted a bit of a daft laugh!

Hells bells, we wouldn’t dare do this in term time – we’d get detention!

To further dent our anarchist credentials, we bought the spray-on stuff that washes straight out again – none of that staying in your hair for a fortnight tomfoolery – we were the wimpy equivalent of the bloke who goes home at eleven on a stag night with a takeaway for his wife.

My eldest, who has a bit of a Buzz Aldrin crew cut thing going on, elected for us to spray on some dots ; he looked like a furry dice from an Eighties Cortina crossed with a Fisher-Price ladybird toy.

He looked cute as opposed to cutting edge... Me and the youngest – lacking the older lad’s sense, began egging each other on until we both ended up with hairgel Mohicans which were then sprayed a vivid blue.

I must insert a warning here readers – men of any age egging each other on seldom ends well.

Wars have started and marriages have ended when daft lads urge each other on to outdo the next bloke in scope and scale of their lunacy.

We have all visited a casualty ward or police cell to hear our mate or relative wail: “We didn’t mean any harm, it all started when daft Jackie bent owwer in front of the bar and dared any body to light a match.”

Again, to clearly distinguish between my bairns’ holiday hair dye escapades and antics of any ASBO families out there – I must point out that we ensured these barnet changes were temporary, fully reversible and carried out during the holidays.

I still cannot get my heed around the fact (aye – even when it’s dyed blue) that some folk don’t see the harm in sending their little ones into a place of education sporting a haircut that Viking Berserker would deem to be a bit ‘ower the top.’

Anyway, in the spirit of good clean fun, lots of selfies were taken and memories made and we sort of forgot about our daft carry on as we bimbled about the house.

However, after a while, I’d so forgotten about the fact me barnet was a blue Mohican, that I happily went off in search of milk before the supermarket shut at four (it was a Sunday).

As I reached the checkout, I was utterly focused on packing me bags.

This was due to the fact it was one of those European budget-chain outlets where all is fine and dandy – “Givowwer – only fifteen poond seventy for all of that?” – until the packing starts!

Then it’s less supermarket sweep and more akin to the looting that went on in the LA riots.

The checkout assistant is hoying stuff at you with the urgency of an accomplice who’s helping you clear the spirit shelf of a liquor store but who’s heard the first wails of the approaching cop cars.

I know this efficiency saves a lot of money, but there’s no need to act like we’re actually nicking the stuff at the checkout!

It was whilst trying to lift some heavy tins of plum tomatoes off me unbelievably cheap but irreversibly squished Scottish strawberries (two words I usually don’t associate) whilst simultaneously pulling out two tenners and a 20p piece (correct amount and packing me own stuff – legend!) that I realised that everyone in the queue was silently staring at me like an inexplicable brown streak on a fresh hotel towel.

Given the broad spectrum of humanity that this establishment attracts, I realised that being stared at was some accomplishment indeed.

Suddenly it hit me – doh! I smiled me best cheeky grin and addressed the checkout operator “Eeh, don’t mind the blue hair – I did it for me bairns.”

Silence. More stares. “I’m afraid sir, you’ll find this checkout is card only...”

Mike is appearing at a charity night for Stroke North East at Newcastle Stand on Monday August 20.