Day 39, 3918km, El Ouatia, Morocco

Needing a timeout from the relentless cross and head winds ripping across the barren landscape I had been cycling through and wanting to be finally accepted by Moroccan society, I stopped in Tan Tan at lunch for a hair cut. Aware that I was starting to look the part of a travelling hippy all too convincingly and with an ecosystem developing to rival the bio-diversity of Africa, this cut was long over due. Chancing upon a salon the shopkeeper next door closed up and came through to show off his multi talented skills. Hoping to stick with the trips football theme I tried to get him to give me the cut of who ever his favourite player was, however for once the language of football let me down and I settled for being made to look Moroccan. With my inability to grow a tash and reluctance to lose my beard's sun protection, he knew he had the task of his shopkeepers career on his hands. Setting to work with some nifty, if totally ineffectual, scissor action before finding one too many dreads in the back and resorting to the trusty electric clippers. The outcome is certainly slick but you'll have to judge for yourselves whether it makes me any closer to being a Mohammed or a Yousef!