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.