'Hey, I heard you tried to get an appointment. Sorry about that. Do you want to come in this week?'

'Um, sure,' I said, but then I realised I couldn't. My hair was cut. Cut, by another man. He'd realise. 'But I'm a bit ... busy this week. Maybe next week. But soon.'

'Oh,' said Tom.

Did he know? Had I been that obvious?

I carried on seeing Joe. Eventually, Tom stopped calling. Joe suggested I grow my hair a bit longer - something Tom had never seemed interested in - and we agreed to go on this magical journey together. Just me and Joe, and my various hairs.

But this week, as I was leaving Joe's salon, laughing, I stepped into the cold winter air, and on the other side of the street, I saw him. Tom. Just standing there, staring at me. He looked sad.

I didn't want him to find out this way.

'I just ... You weren't around, and ...' But nothing I could think of to say seemed right. Maybe Tom and I could still be friends, but it seemed doubtful now. Most of what we had in common was physical, and here I was, with fresh evidence, my hair just cut, and by the hands of another man.

'It was the night of the Constructing Excellence Awards,' I wanted to say, by way of explanation. 'A night where it seemed anything could happen.'

But Tom deserved better than that.

'Come on,' I said. 'Let's have that pint.'

THE FLIGHT

We look at our tickets and still can't quite believe it.

'They got us first class!' I say, shaking my head. 'There'll be proper cutlery! Fine booze! I think at night the stewardesses cradle you in their arms and stroke you to sleep! You go out for cocktails with the captain afterwards! This is going to be great!'

'True,' says my wife. 'But we should play it cool. We must not look like competition winners.'

We both put on our bored faces and walk towards the self-check-in machines. I lay my passport on the scanner and make a big show of what a hassle international first-class travel is. I roll my eyes at my wife and I see her smile. We don't belong in first class. Which is why it's such fun.

But then I look at the screen. 'Passport Not Recognised.'

I scan it again and break into a small sweat. The same thing happens.

'Well, that's that, then, isn't it?' I say. 'There's no way we're flying today. Typical. We'll probably have to walk.'

'Or we could just check in normally,' says my wife.

Yes. We could just check in normally.