I'm at an age when a man's strengths are the same as his weaknesses. So while I can be proud that I still have a full head of hair in my advanced years, all this means is that I have hair everywhere. The hair growing down from my neck will meet the hair creeping up from my back which - weaving together with the wiry bunches pushing out of my nostrils and ears - will soon allow me to attend Halloween parties as a grizzly bear with no call for a costume whatsoever. The long and the short of it was I needed a barber.
But where? Hair dressers, along with nail salons and massage parlours, are about the only businesses deemed "non-essential" in Houston. There's also been a run on hair and beauty products in every reputable (open) store around here. Thankfully the Internet is full of disreputable stores, so I managed to source some secondhand clippers off ebay.
Pete, who has inherited all my worst genetic traits, went first, and I like to think I did a reasonable job. He complained that I wasn't nearly as good as the lady at Sports Clips but beggars can't be choosers. When it came to me my options were more limited. Hannah was working away upstairs, and doing it myself in a mirror seemed ill-advised. "You cut my hair so I should get to cut yours!" pointed out Pete with razor logic. So he did.
The results were...well, I'll let you judge. I didn't think it would turn out quite that short, but with several months to regrow before we're allowed out in public again I'm sure the silken tresses on my head - along with everywhere else - will have plenty of time to recover.
Without one of those nice hairdressing smocks I had to improvise.
The classic North East England cut.
Couldn't find any Yelp reviews for this place. How bad could it be?
Just a little off the top please.
"I'm done, Daddy!"
Plenty of this.
Conscripted soldier? Monk? Someone who just let his seven-yr-old cut his hair?
Ah! Long ago, when I was young and beautiful.
