Me at the hairdressers’ back in the day sitting with Mum!
I am never quite sure why,
But hair cut time, is always so,
… Well so…
You know what l mean?
It’s either going to be a good time,
Or totally useless,
Now my hair has seen better days,
This l can not deny,
‘Tis true, used to be thick with layers,
But now, well it’s more a case of defy,
The holder in any way shape or form,
Known to man!
Short hair nowadays is the norm,
Looks more, you understand?
Yet despite being shorter than afore,
When hair knew no bounds,
The hair cut is still seen as a chore,
Worse now, seeing as l am no longer drowned,
In the furry stuff, and what little l do,
Have is sacred to me,
I am not yet bald, but thinning is true,
Thickness now is but a mere memory!
Most of the time, whilst in the chair,
Letting the talented dresser,
‘Fondle’ my little tufts of hair,
Is usually nothing more than an irritating blur,
Admittedly, at times pending my mood,
I might talk, or l might just doze,
Mostly it’s just boringly glued,
To the mirror and looking at my nose,
Thinking ‘Are my ears clean?’
‘How bald am l on top?’
‘Do l have tufts sprouting in-between,
… the sparseness of my mop?’
Sometimes they talk, and that is .. ok,
As long as their conversation isn’t anal,
Then there are those that babble pointlessly
Which is when it becomes totally banal!
I mean if they have no humour then basically,
They should shut the hell up, and ply their art,
Am not there to be subjected to trifle dilly dally,
Just to have it cut and made smart!
The thing that gets to me the most,
Is sometimes the dreadful lack of seeing jest,
And most of these cutters are clueless to riposte,
Completely absent of real life and enthusiastic zest!
Which is fine as long as they know their place,
And don’t try to be stupidly witty,
Thinking this falseness will stand them in grace,
Of receiving a tip for making me ‘pretty!’
Bit like the other day, ‘Do you want a comb over?’
‘A what?’ I mortifyingly asked
‘Well do you brush it forwards or brush it lower?’
I simply could not help looking aghast!
‘Do l look like l need to look like Nesbitt?’
‘Look like whom?’ Asked she
‘You know the funny git’
‘From the comedy?’
Well it was wasted on this obviously confused lass,
Basically who did not seemingly care,
And judging by her face thought me an ass,
Whether l was alive or dead in my chair!
Made no difference either how l tried to explain,
The role of Rab C Nesbitt in Baldy Guy,
For she just snipped, clipped all the same,
With the same drab looking wry sigh,
Come on barber trainers of the UK,
Start teaching them how to be a bit more funny,
Or at least recruit those with a bit more grey
Matter, and not so focused purely on the money!
Sad state of affairs indeed it has to be said,
When barbers are completely unawares,
Of one of the funniest bald heads,
That created the infamous Nesbitt Hair!!
© Rory Matier 2007
I remember clearly, the discomfort l had as a youngster when in the seat, the dreaded barbers seat, the trip to the barber was met with utter disdain. I was a fidget for starters, preferred my hair to NOT be tampered with and in fact the sensation of the scissors on my hair was most unpleasant.
This caused absolute despair with my parents, especially my Father who thought it ‘proper’ to have short hair at all time, as it was just smarter than looking like some ‘hippy’ he used to say.
I liked my hair being longer, than normal, it was freer for starters, and l liked the fact that l was not specifically conforming to convention. Yes even at that young age, it wasn’t a deliberate attempt on society ‘image consciousness’ but more of an independent streak that l felt obligated to uphold.
Now at my age, l only prefer to have shorter hair, albeit l don’t have the fine locks l once had and for some bizarre reason my forehead seems to have got taller, l still don’t like visits to the hairdresser, but of course, l am a clumsy sod and attempts to tailor make my head only end in disasters – snipped ears for starters, and worse than that l make myself look more of a twit with a custom job, so rather begrudgingly l trudge along to the appointment like a grumpy sulky kid like of long ago years.
The one thing that has always amazed me though is the complete lack of humour from some of these stylists – admittedly l am not always in the mood for my hair being snipped, but if the atmosphere is filled with at least some kind of jovial banter it doesn’t seem too bad …
… but alas l feel that humour is a tad short in these boudoirs.
This conversation actually took place in 2007 in Bourne in Lincolnshire in a stylists there. I had the distinct impression, that l was to sit, shut up and be done.