No change

After sitting for half an hour in a new Turkish barber shop, watching the already short hairs on a customer’s head seemingly being cut one by one, I gave up and put it down to experience.
So I nipped across the road and through a wormhole into 1973 and got my hair cut by the nice lady at Burley’s who spoke about gardening and her upcoming week away in Weymouth.
A complete absence of crappy music, shiny surfaces and words such as divine or pun-based shop names made it all the better.