Skip to main content

Hair today.


Right now I really need a haircut. It’s become massive and unruly; a bit like Russia in the early 1900’s.

The reason I haven’t had it done is simple: I haven’t settled on where to go.

For the best part of thirteen years my hair was cut by the same man. He ran the barbershop on Redhill Road and I lived in the flat above it. We started out as just landlord and tenant – but pretty soon the convenience of a downstairs trim proved too alluring.



We used to spend a lot of our time talking about music. He told me how he was slowly, meticulously copying all of his vinyl onto CD, and then selling the original records via eBay. He also gave me a heads-up on a German website where you could download rare music legally for half the price of that in the UK; he had an eye for a bargain, that man.

The German for ‘bargain’ is Schnäppchen.

He knew that I was in a band - how could he not; I was often practising in the flat upstairs - and would ask me about the gigs that I was doing. Also, when either myself or my actor flatmate (also called Dave) cropped up in an advert, he’d always pass comment on it.

I saw him once in the Sun Runner – when it was still a real ale pub - and nearly didn't recognise him out of his trademark barber’s outfit (white shirt, black trousers and leather waistcoat). He shook my hand enthusiastically and asked whether I was out for a "late one".

I still made my monthly visit to The Barbershop, even after moving to the other side of town; I didn’t mind the half an hour walk there, though the half an hour walk back with newly-trimmed, unwashed hair was a little more embarrassing.

Whenever I called to book an appointment he'd always answer with the exact same tone and wording: “Hello, Barbershop". 

The constancy was almost comforting.

Towards the end he talked of how he was planning on buying a camper van; he'd hired one for a dry-run, and took it out for a week or so to see if he could get to grips with it. He'd also recently passed his motorcycle test - though an apparent fall soon put paid to any plans of being the next Evel Knieval.

The last time I saw him he obviously wasn’t well. The pain in one arm was so bad that he was barely using it. He was still the same as ever; laughing and joking with both me and his friends, who often popped their head into the shop whilst he was working for a quick catch-up.

A month passed before I phoned to book my next appointment. The call went straight to answerphone; there was a different voice on the other end of it.

I went to his funeral. The service was full of great stories, and his grandson - who he’d often boasted had the makings of a great drummer - did a reading.

After the service I stood in the car park waiting for my lift. My old neighbor Rob (who had run the Chinese Restaurant next to the barbershop) pulled his car up next to me and wound down the window.

"It's a sad day, isn't it?", he said.
"Yes", I replied. "Yes, it's a very sad day".

I'm still glad I went.


Ever since I’ve had my hair cut in a couple of different places. It’s not the same; the conversation doesn’t flow so freely – and now for the first time in years I have to consider how to express what I want. I'd never needed to do that before.

On that last visit to Redhill Road, after I'd paid up and picked up my jacket to leave, I turned in the doorway and wished him the very best. I said good bye, and that I hoped I'd see him soon. He thanked me, and joked that if I didn't, then I'd know the reason why. 

As I pushed my way through that door for a final time, I heard him say, "Don't waste time, Dave. You never know what's just around the corner".

I'll do my best, Jack.

Popular posts from this blog

Shakerpuppetmaker.

Have Parker from Thunderbirds and Noel Gallagher ever been seen in the same room? The resemblance is uncanny. So much so, I think something’s afoot. If my suspicions are correct, I've stumbled across a secret that will blow the music and puppet industry wide apart. In the mid-60s / mid-90s at least. It doesn’t take long to see the signposts. There’s the similarity between the name of Oasis’ first single, Supersonic, and Supermarianation, Gerry Anderson’s puppetry technique. The Gallagher brothers would often wear Parkas . Live Forever was clearly a reference to Captain Scarlet and Standing on the Shoulder of Giants to the size difference between Noel and his bandmates. The more you think about it, the more brazen it gets. It’s fishier than Area 51, Paul is Dead and JFK's assassination put together. The only glitch to the theory is scale . According to Wikipedia, Anderson’s marionettes were 1’10” and Gallagher is 5’8”. How does he maintain an illusion of avera...

Comedy That's Worth a Letch.

Today, I nipped to Letchworth to meet with illustrator (and one-time - two-time - comedy poet) Mushybees, to discuss an event Mostly Comedy will act as surrogate parents to as part of Letchworth’s Arts Takeover in a couple of weeks. Months ago he got into contact to see if we’d be up for co-organising a comedy stage as part of Letchworth’s weekend of arts-based attractions in July; something I’d provisionally said yes to, before things got hectic in the lead-up to Edinburgh and we didn’t take it any further. Despite not getting down to the nitty-gritty straight away, we managed to pull a line-up together in a back-and-forth of emails yesterday, leading to me getting Glyn’s blessing and us deciding we’d officially go ahead with it (whatever ‘officially’ means in this context). In reality, it’s not complicated: from 12pm until 6pm-ish on the 22 nd July, Glyn, Mushybees and I will host four Edinburgh previews from four acts (including me), before Nor...

Stevenage: A (Tiny) River Runs Through it.

If ever a river was mis-sold, it’s the Roaring Meg in Stevenage. I just walked past it on my way to the retail park that has taken its name. They’re similarly uninspiring. The river is less of a roar and more of a dribble; cystitis sufferers produce greater flow. The retail park is soulless. What was once a thriving enterprise is nearly devoid of atmosphere, save an underlying essence of emptiness and despair. With a Toys R Us. When it was first built I was excited. Back then, the thought of a bowling alley, an ice rink, a Harvester and a Blockbuster Video within a small surface area was enticing. I celebrated many birthdays on site. There was an indoor cricket pitch there for a while where I once had a joint party with a friend. Why someone with an almost pathological fear of sport would agree to such a venture is beyond me, but I did it. Now, there’s very little at the Roaring Meg of note. The river would be a metaphor for the shopping ce...