The Hair Bare Bunch

My Dear Fellow,

I had my head shaved on #1 today. The barber meets all my criteria:

1. In & out in 10 minutes.
2. No inane chat about plans for the weekend.
3. A tenner or less.

They also offer to trim your eyebrows in this place. At least if you are an old effer they do. I am steadfastly refusing because I don't think mine are out of control yet. Until they start looking like a pair of hedgehogs stuck on my forehead, I'm not conceding defeat.

They also do that thing where they light what looks like a large cotton bud on fire and then - PHLOOPHF - flash it by your ear-hole to singe away errant ear hair. Ear hair is a problem for me. Not so the casual observer would notice, but I can tell they are there and they annoy me, so I'm glad of the phloophf. 

Mind you, there was a bloke sitting next to me at work the other week whose ear hair was way more luxuriant and extensive than his head hair. Balding on top, his head hair drooped sadly down from his napper like the branches of a weeping willow. Meanwhile, his carpet of thick black ear-hair spread upwards, proud and robust like ivy. 

That man could have the weirdest comb-over ever, if he wanted to.

I used to go to a Turkish barber, years ago. He was rubbish and hurt me by shaving the back of my neck with a blunt cut-throat razor. Then he would stretch out his hand. "Teep?" he would say.

I always tipped him. I know you are not supposed to ask for tips, and he really didn't deserve it anyway, but he was the one holding the cut-throat razor.

For a number of years, Er Indoors stopped me from going to such establishments. "You have to go to a salon," she insisted. "You'll get a much more stylish look and they use quality products on your hair."

Neither of these arguments convinced me.

"You might get a boob in the face from one of the stylists," she added.

Oh all right then. I might be persuaded to give it a go.

She was right about the boob in the face but it's not as enjoyable as you might think. I can't properly enjoy it, if it's just some poor woman doing her regular job. And besides, it's just seedy if your smock starts moving about on its own.

But the chat. The inane chat. Stylists in salons insist on it. And a stylist takes AGES. But Er Indoors was pleased so I kept it up until I started bumping into women from the office in there.. It was awkward, like we were all on girly dates together. And besides... HOW MUCH?!?

Stylists do not come cheap. When I saw the cost I felt like I should be given a free three-course meal along with the hairdo.

So a couple of years back I went back to the barbers to find they have changed a lot due to trendy young men. I'm not sure I understand this hipster thing. They seem to have combined trendiness with fussy old curmudgeon-ness. Most barbers these days are stylish affairs that look more like cocktail bars. 

There is an easy way to distinguish old-style barbers from the new hipster joints. The price. I still try to apply my "tenner or less" rule on the assumption that 5 minutes with a #1 shaver isn't worth more than that. So that's how I come to regularly visit a place at the Gyle where the only luxury is the flaming cotton bud, with an hedgehog-eyebrow trim as an optional extra.

I still teep though. I may be cheap, but I'm not inconsiderate.

Parsones

p.s. Here is a picture of Livingstone pointing his remote control at a bus.