NO barbers in my little town any more. More’s the pity.
So to the ‘unisex’ hair dressers, explain a number 1 back and sides and cut down to 1/2 an inch on top.
Usual responce “Yes but you don’t it too short do you…” not a question, sort of an observation
Well if by too short you mean shorter than I just described to you, then no, i don’t hence the description in what I would consider to be hair dresser parlance.
No.1 attached to clippers which are then wafted around my head like some kind of talisman against the evil voodoo of too short-a-hair. This is what led me to drop to a number one, used to be a number 2 but my old place pretty much drove the bastards into my skull, which had the desired effect. What’s the point in attaching what is all said and done a measuring device and then NOT USING IT? So we bugger about spending ages waving this device about like we’re doing some kind of mystical Hair Reiki because without ever being applied to my head it doesn’t seem to work very well, before start on the top, after a lot “I’ll go to a number 4 at the top. then start snipping seemingly randomly over the top of my head, constant breaking off todo my neck, then sidies (Do you want these trimming back?” – “No thanks” – BAM – they’re just gone.), then round my ears, each time going back to do a few more seemingly arbitrary snips on top.
“SO How’s that for you?”
And since each snip remove only about 3mm of hair and it’s been a month since my last hair cut “Errr, yeah a little bit more off please” so we go on for a dozen snips removing another mm here and there.
“There we go.”
“Errrr, could you take a little bit more off, pretty please?”
Repeat until eventually I give up. Pay (no tip), go home, and remove the chavesque fringe I always get left with (I’m 32 FFS!) and take the top down a bit best I can in a mirror. Same bloody woman, every month… to begin with I thought she might actually learn after a while but they seems to have been blind pointless optimism on my part. You would have more luck teaching a goldfish to remember the books of the Old Testament.
There did used to be a barbers. I went once, bloke outside flicked his ciggy away as I walked in, followed me in, 10 minutes, just how I wanted it. Minimal pointless waffley chat, sorted. Next time I went down I walked in it had in one month became an art gallery… Of stupid crappy modern art that as far as I can tell involves the artist smacking his face into his palette and then spending 15 minutes head butting the canvas, then slapping a hundred pound price tag on it.
Seriously considered driving 60 mile round trip to go my old place in Leeds, 6 music, hair cut how I liked, good reading matter while I wait. Strictly no appointments. Bliss.
God I miss Leeds.