THERE was a horrifying glimpse into the future when I went to get my hair cut – and it had nothing to do with the fact that there is less and less hair to cut.

Nigel has been our family hairdresser since the kids were so little that they sat on a pile of towels and demanded “a Noddy cut”.

And when I walked through the door last week, he was in mid-rant about how his wallet is taking a fearful battering as he prepares for his daughter’s wedding.

Naturally, he’d bought a new suit for the big day – but he got it in the sale at Binns. The trousers were too big but it was 20 per cent off so he took them round the corner to have them adjusted for a few quid more.

You see, us dads just have to make do. Mums, on the other hand, are a different kettle of fish altogether.

Thanks to the internet, Nigel’s wife had come across a new outfit at a designer boutique in Los Angeles, which is a long way from Binns in Darlington.

It cost a small fortune and, to rub salt into the wounds, poor old Nigel had to pay the courier £25 import tax when it was delivered.

His wife tried it on straight away – and promptly decided she didn’t like it.

“I’m not wearing that,” she declared.

“It’s not as nice as it looked on the internet.”

“What do you mean?” exclaimed Nigel. “It’s cost a fortune!”

“I don’t care – I’m not wearing it,”

came the reply.

There was a no cash-back policy – just credit – and since there was nothing else his wife liked, the wedding outfit is now up for sale on ebay under “ladies’ white suits”.

In the meantime, Nigel ended up in an Italian designer shop, where his wife tried on another dress, costing £400.

“Ooh, I like that,” she swooned, admiring herself in the mirror.

It was at that point that the boutique owner scurried across the shop floor “like a greased weasel” (Nigel’s description) saying with an Italian flourish: “It’s beautiful, beautiful. I have just the thing for you – I am a stylist.”

She was armed with a small hat which she plonked on Nigel’s wife’s head with a one-word verdict: “Perfect!”

“How much is that?” asked Nigel.

“Nearly as much as the dress – £380,” giggled the Italian woman.

“How much?” shrieked Nigel, holding onto a chair for support.

“Oh, but it does go lovely,” said his wife.

“You can forget it,” said Nigel, working out in his head how many hair cuts he’d have to fit in to pay for it.

“Don’t worry, I have the solution,”

said the Italian woman. “You can hire the hat.”

“Now you’re talking,” said Nigel.

“It’s £129 for the day,” said the Italian woman, casually, before adding: “With a deposit of £120.”

Nigel protested for all he was worth but there was no point. The dress was bought and the hat hire deal agreed – but that wasn’t the end of it.

“Shoes,” said the Italian woman. “I must find you the perfect shoes – I’m a stylist.”

Knowing that I too have a daughter, Nigel looked me in the eye and gave me this heartfelt advice: “Just remember – common sense goes out of the window when it comes to weddings.”

I wanted to hug him in a show of understanding and solidarity but I was worried about the scissors in his hand.

Maybe, just maybe, my daughter will elope.

THE THINGS THEY SAY

I RECEIVED the following text from Nigel a few days later: “Poverty is hereditary – you get it from your children.”

DARLINGTON councillor Cyndi Hughes was doing a spot of story telling at Whinfield Primary School in Darlington last week.

Cyndi is American and she said to the little ones: “You’ll notice I have a different accent to all of you. Does anyone know where I come from?”

One little lad stuck his hand up and shouted: “Aycliffe?”

FOLLOWING a talk to the Breathe Easy group in Darlington, James Edwards sent an email, recalling the time his four-year-old son pointed to the pavement and said: “What’s that?”

“It’s a manhole,” replied his dad.

“Is that where you are buried then?” came the reply.