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Friday, May 12


One of the reasons I go to North Camp (a part of Farnborough near both my office and my rented accommodations) every week for a haircut is to get it done properly. Another reason I go every week is that I have a reasonably fast-growing set of hairs, but the set is incomplete. As a result, I look a bit odd periodically, as things sprout out of my head in an uneven manner. I have a pair of hair clippers and I could put the effort in to do my own head myself, but that comes with a lot of contorting and a clean-up operation after. I could get my girlfriend to perform the operation of clipping my head, but it's not incredibly pleasurable for her, the clippers aren't that good and it never quite seems appropriate to be naked in her parents' kitchen - the obvious place to do the job... and we're not equipped with the various robes you need to protect you from falling hair.

So, all things being equal, I pay a lady to do my hair for me. She gets enough money to buy a large pizza, and I get a shaved and washed head. It's a fair deal. I have noticed, in recent weeks, that the extra benefit of getting a professional hair-cutter to do the cutting of the hair is that the process is much more comfortable that with my own clippers being brandished by someone who has only ever used such clippers a handful of times. It can be quite pleasant being attended by someone who has your scalp's best interests at heart. This is how loyalty to a barber's shop begins.

Today I went to the very same barber's shop as I've been using. There was a new face on the scene. Gasp. A trainee. Now, I'm a hard to please person, I'll admit that, but a trainee is just learning, so should not be given discouragement. They don't pretend to be great. They need heads to learn on. They need to learn their trade. So, I did my best to avoid letting this woman know exactly how much unlike her boss's service the events that happened on my head were.

Where the boss would make the hair trimmers feel like they had ball bearings on the ends of them, moving them so smoothly and gracefully over my head, the trainee made them feel... well... a bit scrapy. In fact, the word "OW" came to mind quite a lot. But I stayed poker faced. In fact, I've had scratches from my girlfriend's cat which felt more comfortable than these clippers.

I smiled. It amuses me when I pay for a service which hurts me. Like when the dental hygienist scraped away at my gums - that was hilarious. So, this cack-handed hairdresser made me chuckle to myself too.

Then I bought a fig from the fruiterer across the street. That is the correct word for it too. Though it seems like there's an extra "er" in there.


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