The Finger Rule

Brilliant things fingers. Without them there would be no music, precious few sports and almost certainly a total lack of ability to drink from a wine glass without ending up licking most of the pinot grigio from the tabletop. Come to think of it there'd probably be no tabletop either.

God certainly should be congraulated on the design of fingers because of all these joys they provide us, though of course they're also highly useful for a number of less brilliant activities - let's face it, swearing just wouldn't be the same without fingers.

But there is one use that I've always been fascinated by and that is when those fantastic fingers belong to a hairdresser.

On average, I have my hair cut roughly every six weeks. That's about nine times a year, or to put it another way, 180-odd times since my once golden brown locks were first exposed to the bloke with the spray bottle, designer stubble and personalised scissors.

I've had my fair share of hair cut types, though by and large nothing outrageous. But what's always amazed me is the same familiar pattern I go through with the barber.

I'll sit down, he/she will ask me what I want doing, we'll agree (or not in some isolated cases of teenage rebllion) and then they will proceed to run their hand over my hair, grasp a bit of it with two fingers and ask the question to which I'm yet to fathom any answer other than yes - "about this much off?".

About how 'much' off? From what I can see it's always the same two fingers, at roughly the same point on my head and usually broadly the same outcome.

So I ask again. How, with someone's hand in the middle of your head, looking in a mirror (left is right, right is left, yada yada yada) and with absolutely no ability as a pre-cogniscent being who can look into the future are you supposed to say anything other than a somewhat limp and utterly defenceless 'yes'?

Of course it all usually ends up broadly alright - bizarrely I've always thought the worst you look after a haircut is the second day, not the first day after you've had the snip. But by and large, by the end of the first week, everything is back to normal and you get on with things.

But I remain determined to solve this little conondrum and hence I've come to the conclusion that it's time for me to do the only thing possible - penetrate the inner hairdressing circle and decipher the genuis behind the finger rule.

I can see it already; the day in the lecture schedule where the doors to the auditorium are bolted shut, the global hairdressing deity (GHD for short) steps forward from the golden plinth, and a hush falls across the next generation of convertible car owners.

And then he utters the immortal, longed-for words:

"My pupils, today we learn the most important rule of them all, the rule that will guide your careers and ensure cash in your pockets. Today we learn, the finger rule"

OK, maybe not, but I freely admit here and now that I simply haven't got the balls to challenge the finger rule any other way

HIMYM

Acronyms. They're everywhere. I suspect there was a time when they didn't exist but as long as I've been alive (or at least as long as I can remember, so discount those first three years of joyful unaware bliss) they seem to have been around. The world of business is of course particularly susceptible for them. I remember spending nine months in a pensions office being confronted everyday with 'GMP', 'RPI' and 'AVCs', and the world of PR is just as bad (look at it, it's a bloody acronym itself!).

But it's the acronym above which has mostly been occupying my thoughts and indeed my evenings recently. It stands for How I Met Your Mother, a delightful little American sitcom that airs on one of the lesser channels (i.e. not Fox, ABC or NBC) in the US. It briefly ran on BBC Two here in the UK for the first couple of series, but then the Beeb has never been that good at maintaining American sitcoms on its channels (with the glorious exception of Seinfeld of course).

The central premise is simple but effective - Ted, the main character, sets up each episode by explaining to his kids the stories that led to the eventual meeting and marrying of their mother. The episodes then proceed by way of flashbacks to those events.

And of course, like every successful sitcom, HIMYM has a central comedy character at its heart. In this case it's the ultimate alpha male, Barney Stinson. Attractive, rich, a firm believer in the one night stand and yet curiously loveable - think Joey Tribbiani with intelligence and dress sense. Oh, and some wonderful catchphrases.

But the reason it really works, and is now entering its fifth season, isn't because it's devasatingly funny or indeed sharp, like say Frasier (still the greatest ever sitcom) or Mash. Rather, like Friends, Cheers, Will & Grace and all the rest, it works because it offers us some comfort, some security and some reassurance that good things can happen in our lives.

And that's all that people really want, and indeed need - human society wasn't forged from despair, it was forged out of hope and triumph. There's been plenty of the former and not nearly enough of the latter over the past 18 months so every little bit helps.

Go on, watch it. You might just be pleasantly surprised......