Barbers

Today I did something I haven't done in a few months, I took a leisurely stroll down town to get a hair cut. I usually avoid it like the plague, however the length of my hair was so absurd I kept jolting my head to keep it out of my eyeline. Essentially I looked like cousin It from the Addams family...with epilepsy. So I took the plunge and went down, after waiting for an eternity for the previous customer to stop talking about the merits of various golf and country clubs (apparently Springmoor Club now welcomes black people, so that's only about 60 years late), it was finally my moment.

As soon as I sat in the chair I knew I'd made a mistake, his first question to me was 'So, who do you reckon is gonna win?' The World Cup is something which I have little to no interest in, in fact I'd be happy if no one won, and everyone who took part got one of those packs of mini Haribo, you know, the ones that cost 10p. So here I was, held captive by a scissor wielding maniac being interrogated about the possible outcome of some kind of sporting competition that he probably held in higher regard than any god he may have. Needless to say, I wasn't prepared. So I improvised, I thought of the best answer I could and out it tumbled 'England have got a chance if they pull their socks up'. The barber laughed. He laughed hard, for a full 30 seconds he laughed, like a murderer who really enjoys doing a murder. He then stopped very abruptly, pondered for a second and replied with 'Yes'. 'Yes' is all he said. He proceeded in snipping and hacking at my hair until I looked like a dog that's lost some fur all over. He then held up a mirror and asked what I thought. As I was scared of any further Gestapo-style questioning I said it was fine, promptly paid (£8.50! Fucking hell, don't they know there's a recession on?) and left the shop.

Truth is, my hair looked dreadful and I bet that little shit knew it, on returning home I picked up a pair of scissors and proceeded to chop away at the back blindly until it felt more acceptable and until my neck started bleeding. All this because of the World Cup, what an appalling way to spend a lunchtime. I hate this.