Hairy time for the maskless

Well, was I right or was I right? Some weeks ago, during the start of this time of trouble and trepidation, I predicted that, come the glorious day (Wednesday past, to be exact), hairdressers and barbers would become key and essential workers and the queues would be oot the door. Thus far, on my brief but telling peregrinations about the place, I can only say that

I hit the nail on the head (carefully coiffed or not).

Putting the locks back into lockdown and taking the tress out of stress will probably do more for public morale (both ladies’ and gents’ and any other non-binary groupings) than any amount of attempted political “reassurance”. Particularly as most hairdressers, in my experience, seem to know what they’re doing and have got themselves and their salons kitted out for safety and efficiency. As opposed to a broad swathe of government ministers who cannot seem to decide, individually or collectively, whether the wearing of face masks is a necessity, the epitome of thoughtful good manners (thank you, a hitherto maskless Michael Gove) or a “monstrous imposition”.

Now that these coverings have been deemed semi-compulsory south of the border, I await with interest the result of all this bare-faced cheek. Of course, it’s not going to be easy to police, even for the police. And it might get a bit interesting if you find yourself in the vicinity of people such as MP Desmond Swayne in the M&S checkout line.

He it was who was responsible for the “monstrous imposition” outburst. For your information, chum, I am one of the “monstrous” regiment and I will be wearing the things regularly and often as I gad about undertaking vital activities because – shock, horror, probe – it’s not actually that hard. Taking your cue from Donald Trump is never a wonderful idea, I would suggest, and even he has been snapped sporting a piece of nose and mouth fabric that still somehow didn’t quite manage to cover the necessary facial features.

With most of us being expected to do all we can to keep this particularly vicious viral wolf from the door, I would suggest that harrumphing about face masks in such an overblown manner is the very definition of both an overreaction and a first world problem. If that is all you have to worry yourself about in the current situation, Mr Swayne, I would respectfully suggest that you ought to get out more. With a face mask on, preferably.

Any road up, back to the other more welcome headliners. I have an appointment in my local and muchpraised salon this evening. Let joy be unconfined, which is more or less the state of my hairdo. Though it’s amazing how quickly you get used to something, particularly if you have spent your lockdown time not looking in mirrors very much.

Having white hair already has meant I need have no truck with root cover-up kits or home dye-ing to deal with the go-faster badger stripe careering straight down the middle of my hapless bonce. But I have spent a sleepless night or two trying to work out what to do with a fringe with a mind of its own. Wearing a Pudsey hairband (don’t ask) to do the gardening is not a look I would recommend to anyone with any

“If that is all you have to worry about in the current situation, Mr Swayne, I would suggest you get out more

sense of self-worth. Especially when the giggling spouse threatens to take piccies for Facebook.

Having already pointed out that the wild white thatch is making me look like the love child of Worzel Gummidge and Miss Havisham, it is no consolation to admit that, when you add in the hot flushes and the resulting bright red face, one has to admit to resembling an unholy cross between that Dickensian grotesque and Hellboy. Or, if you’re old enough to remember that very strange film, Legend, a close impersonation of the devil as played by Tim Curry looking (aptly) as if he’s been dipped in a vat of tandoori masala.

Going even further down memory lane, the lengths to which my locks will go have reached the stylistic vision of femme fatale Veronica Lake, that It-girl of the ’40s who seemed to look at life through a permanent peek-a-boo curtain of coiffure. Not that I think that is ever likely to catch on again although you can never tell with fashion. Look at the Purdey, surely one of the most unflattering dos ever, except on Joanna Lumley who enjoyed many natural compensatory advantages that most of the female population didn’t. Some intrepid snipper might give it a go but I’m sure Vidal Sassoon never went to meet his maker lamenting that he didn’t invent the chin-length fringe, trendily asymmetric or not.

On the other hand, perhaps two birds with one stone might be the answer here. If we could persuade all those mask-deniers simply to grow their hair and let it fall over their faces like a kind of forward-facing comb-over, it might shut them up.

Or at least muffle them sufficiently to let the rest of us deal with this toxic mask-erade in peace.

Reopening of barbers and hairdresser salons could be just the thing to lift public morale as we ease our way out of lockdown.