Hair

My Mum went to get her hair “Done” this afternoon. I’m not sure whether that means her hair gets cut, or if it just gets styled.

She used to pay about a hundred quid for a haircut at Rita Rusk’s posh emporium but after a couple of questionable hairdos there she decided to look elsewhere.

Now she goes to a place nearby. Nothing fancy — just a little shop on an unimposing street, run by the woman who owns it plus one helper. The whole thing somehow takes a couple of hours, for reasons that are unclear to me. It costs her about £30 a pop now, a big improvement and more money left over for fags and whisky.

My own hair requirements are much simpler. I used to go to one of the dozen or so Barbers in town but I hated having to chat to the barber and then there was the idea of the residue of other guys’ hair and germs getting applied to your own scalp.

So now I cut my own with the handy dandy Wahl clippers. The end result may not be as tidy as the professional haircut but it’s adequate, which is all I need. There’s also a saving of about £100 a year, which isn’t much but it all adds up.