Haircut Five Hundred
I was out on my lunchtime walk today and found a little barber’s shop tucked in a side street in Woodlands, just ten minutes away from the ±«Óătv. Some colleagues had recently hinted I needed a haircut. The hints were not subtle. There had been references to sheepdogs and floor mops which I won’t go into. So I looked through the window and applied my usual strict criteria for deciding if I should allow a complete stranger to run amok through my scalp with scissors and razors; there was no one waiting. I went in.
Now, I don’t know about you, but I’m not very good at coming up with small-talk in these situations. Someone should write a book of hints and tips on this subject and couple it with a list of amusing things to write when birthday cards get handed around the office. Luckily, Luigi, my new barber, was not in the mood for a two-way conversation and was content to snip away at my hair while sharing little snippets of information he’d picked up during a lifetime among the combs and mirrors. He told me that some people have strands of hair that are so sharp they can puncture the skin, especially the soft tissue between the fingers. It was no wonder, he continued, that the famous that had opened in Paisley was shutting down. No one wants to look at naked flesh while having a haircut, said Luigi, “there’s a time and a place for everything”.
Luigi told me my own hair was “very fine” and that he had to cut it carefully or it would stick up everywhere. I confirmed that I’d had those kinds of stick-up haircuts on many previous occasions and, as a result, my appearance had often been compared to Worzel Gummidge. Luigi nodded and it was clear he could see the resemblance.
On the way back to the ±«Óătv I tried to work out how many haircuts I’ve had in my life. Assuming one cut every six weeks, multiplied by 43 years, but subtracting a figure for early childhood and that scruffy period as a student, I reckoned this had been by 500th haircut. If I had been allowed to collect all that cut hair, I might now have enough to stuff a sofa.
A bizarre thought. I think all this fresh air is going to my head.
