SO are you going anywhere nice for your policies this year then? The latest wizard wheeze from Demos, the Government think tank (And doesn't that strange phrase conjure up a wonderful image...?) is that hairdressers could be trained to dispense advice on Government services.

A cut and blow dry and a crash course in NHS directives or advice on housing policies. And if you're stuck in the chair with your hair wet and half cut, then you're pretty much a sitting target.

Hairdressers, says Demos, "are the most authentic voice on the high street and they should be given a formal role in urban policy making".

Which makes you wonder where the people of Demos get their hair done.

Now I go to two wonderful women, down to earth, no nonsense, whom I would quite cheerfully trust to run the world. It was a hairdresser, some years ago, who was the first to notice that I had a thyroid problem, so maybe they could be health advisers too.

On the other hand, before I discovered the sensible women, I used to go to one of those terribly fashionable salons where there were about two people who could actually cut hair. The rest of the staff consisted of beautiful young men dressed exquisitely in black and white and too busy checking their own reflections in the many mirrors to think of anything else. I didn't trust them to fetch me a cup of coffee let alone a nice new set of urban policies.

I stopped going there when my highlights cost twice as much as I expected and took twice as long to do. Just imagine that lot advising on the railways.

NEW Year's Day on the beach at Saltburn. As busy and friendly as ever, despite the blustery rain. Lots of dogs, lots of children, lots of grandparents.

The missing generation, no doubt, was still clinging to its hangover bed, just grateful that everyone else was getting fresh air on its behalf.

THE cost of the average wedding has now gone up to over £17,000. It's not just that weddings cost a lot - and even a modest affair these days can easily cost half a year's wages - it's also that couples are steam rollered into having an entire package, which might not always be what they want.

And that's before the bandwagon for civil partnerships starts rolling. And that's soon going to cost a pretty pink pound or two.

But do you just want to get married? All that's needed for lifelong commitment is a simple ceremony and a few witnesses. There's no law that says it has to involve lunch for 100, a party for 200, a disco, a light show and mothers in hats, and cousins you haven't seen since auntie Joan's silver wedding 20 years ago.

Or do you want to invite all your friends and long lost relations to a lavish party? They don't have to be the same thing. And it's when they get confused that the bills soar.

A wedding is no longer a wedding, more of a theatrical performance. And sometimes it's bound to end in tears.

Take the rise of the wedding night party. By the time the evening starts, guests who have been there all day are absolutely shattered. Granny, granddad and half the aunties just want to crawl away to bed. Meanwhile, friends invited just for the night do are probably feeling miffed that they weren't invited for the reception.

And when you have a lunchtime reception and an evening party, there's always an awkward gap in the middle.

Hence no wedding is now complete without jazz band/string quartet/fire eaters/jugglers/entertainment/boat trip. And so the costs rise and rise.

Fine, if that's what you want. Enjoy it. Even as the pound signs click by.

But if it isn't, take a stand and refuse to be bullied or pressurised into something you don't want or can't afford. After all, £17,000 is a decent deposit on a house. Or an awful lot more parties - without speeches, hat hire, long lost aunties, or even a string quartet.

OUT getting the papers on Monday morning - still a bank holiday and only the ninth day of Christmas after all - nearly all the people I met were grumbling loudly and bitterly because they still had a house full of visitors - mainly adult children with their attendant noise and chaos.

The first footers had barely got their feet out of the door, when others had already rushed to pull down the tree, binned the cards, burnt the holly, thrown the Christmas cake to the birds and stuck the presents in the cupboard.

"Thank goodness it's all over and we can get back to normal," they said with an almost vicious glee. That was the season of goodwill, that was. Didn't last long, did it?