HAIR-RAISING

Used to braving firstly backyard haircuts and then less-than-gentle barbers, our Editor-in-Chief comes full circle and returns to backyard cuts ... with a difference.

Growing up, my dad would organise a man called Phil Spray to come to our house and give my four brothers and me a haircut. Haircut day was relatively simple. This meant the garage was cleared of cars, a rug was rolled out, a chair placed in the middle of the space and Phil, with his bag of scissors and shavers, would appear. He would wrap a cloth around us as we sat there and chat away to Dad as he gave us a short back and sides.

Eventually, as time rolled on, our haircuts were then in the hands of Mrs Neville, another ‘at home’ job, this time at her place and with a TV on in the neighbouring room. There wasn’t much customer service or chat.

During the COVID-19 lockdown, all these at-home haircutting experiences flooded back to me as my wife offered to shave my head. To say ‘cutting my hair’ would be a lie as I am follicly challenged, so although there was no Phil Spray rug rolled out, or TV on in the next room, Michelle’s space was that of our backyard. Every second week, a chair was pulled out on to the grass and a towel wrapped around me. Firstly, I have to say that having sun on my face and being barefoot on the grass while having my hair cut was actually quite a sweet sensation. Secondly, it turns out my wife had the touch of an angel when it came to barbershop skills.

The chat was fun, but the highlight was her incredibly soft touch. I can’t tell you how many rough barbers have grabbed a blunt shaver and screeched it across my dome, giving me a headache and often an injury in the process. I no longer wish to return to Alfie, the barber I’ve been going to for the past 10 years. Sorry, Alfie, I feel bad but it turns out I actually live with the best barber in town. She was right under my nose all the time. Queue up brothers, no rug required.