FIGARO

I eventually went out today and braved the elements.

I had to get a haircut as The Old Girl said I was looking like Father Jack in Father Ted.

I went along to an Italian barber I discovered last time I had a cut. He's been in Toronto for over 40 years but still speaks minimal English. He has a radio tuned to an Italian language station which plays Italian opera and Italian song classics. Richard would love it as a chance to practise his Italian while asking for a cut (although I suspect he'd come out with a mohawk haircut or something similar).

My hair just grows out sideways and at the back now having given up growing anymore on top and in the centre. There it just gradually shrinks.

Years ago when I was a kid we went to 'the family barber'. This was Ken Crooks who had his barber shop in John Street Newtown. I remember going there from the age of about four right up until I went to university.
From about the age of 12 onwards I started to request hair styles from Ken.
"Just the slightest bit off thanks Mr Crooks and leave it long at the back and sides" was always the request.
The result was always the same - short back and sides. Ken only knew one design. It fit all users, old, young, male, female.

 Ken would prattle on weilding his trusty electric trimmer and hair would fly in all directions. When he used the scissors you'ld cringe, waiting for the obligatory slip and the gash in the scalp or nick out of an ear.

When the ordeal was over Ken would get out the big spray bottle of bay rum and liberally douse you as if you were a sheep going through the dip. This meant walking home to Vogeltown as getting on the bus smelling like a Turkish brothel was a no-no.

Ah fond memories.