Wednesday, February 13, 2013

Hair cuts!

I got my hair cut on Saturday. I use this great little barbers in the indoor market in Luton. It’s run by four very working class lasses who are all born and bred Lutonians. Educated in Luton also, which is reflected in the charming little sign on the wall demonstrating their ‘Ernie Wisesque’ command of the English language. However, similarly educated Lutonian mothers have full understanding of its content and happily stand outside in a gaggle, (blocking the door) as they chat away and moan about not being able to smoke in the market anymore. I love the place, the girls are really genuine, very welcoming and do a sufficient job in keeping me trimmed.

I’ve just read that back, and I have to say it does make me sound like a snob. For this I apologise, but I also caveat this with the fact that all my three offspring (that I know of!) were also educated in Luton, and like my hairdressing girls, have not let this be a handicap. However, there are small malapropisms (well, they’re not even really them) which often pop out.

Example: I get a text saying ‘Dad, will you leaf out a key for me’ He could see nothing wrong with this!!

Or, when my 18 year old daughter comes downstairs in a figure hugging outfit, which is revealing far too much of her cleavage, and which she intends to wear to a party, and in which her Father clearly disapproves, I’m told ‘I’m very proud of my figure, I think I’m voLUMPtuous!!!’ The irony is completely lost on her.

Who’d be a parent!

When I first moved to Luton I used a great little barbers called Tulios, who used to be run by lads, for lads. We would discuss ‘lads things’ and it became a bit of an event to go there, drink coffee and have a bit of banter. But Tulio had plans to go upmarket and made a crucial error in introducing two extremely glamorous girls to work with him. Sorry, but in no circumstance am I having some sexy woman massage my scalp, ask me how I want it and money change hands! I’m just not that sort of bloke!

Next I moved to Carmens in High Town but he made the mistake of taking too much off my forehead and received a visit later that day from the wife! The shame was too great, I had to find somewhere else. I don’t think I have a particularly ugly forehead? It’s not as if I have 666 tattooed across it, but whenever I go to get it cut, I’m sent off with strict instructions ‘leave some at the front to cover your forehead’

The only time I ever deviate from my Luton lasses is when I go to Dominican Republic and because of the heat I’m allowed a Number 1 all over. Having a son who was a skinhead in a previous life, we have the equipment for a DIY job. I think most men would go for this look if they thought it was attractive to girls, as its certainly practical, saves on shampoo and most importantly makes you look hard! I hadn’t realised, but whilst skinheads were a reaction to the long haired look of the hippies, it fitted in with their violent lifestyle, as, in a fight, your opponent has no hair to grab hold of.  

I've been told I look like a Serbian war criminal!
Perhaps the most unique experience I had was getting my hair cut in a settlement called Ascension village in the Dominican Republic. This community is primarily made up of Haitian refugees, a collective which I have come to dearly love, and so to help boost the local economy I agreed to get my locks pruned.

On entering the shack I was greeted with a bare room containing only an office chair held together with masking tape, and a broken mirror precariously balanced on a couple of nails. On a small shelf sat a small black comb and a Wilkinson sword razor blade. (ha! On cue, a merengue song by Theodore Reyes, a heartthrob in DR has just shuffled to the front on the ipod!) My new friend Isaias took the comb and the razor blade and in a deft slashing motion, transformed me to my favoured war criminal look, and all for about one pound.  

Had I known at that time that HIV was running at about 20% in the village at that time, I might have been less keen!

Gosh, I’ve just written a whole post about getting my hair cut. I’m surprised you got this far. Thank you! Perhaps to counterbalance this, I’ll make sure I reveal some dark secret about me in my next blog. You have been warned!

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