Haircut

Oh dear.

Yes, it's that time again. The time that every man dreads. Haircut time.

At lunchtime I went on a stroll to Gary's, my barber shop of choice in Holywood. Luckily, Gary was busy with another customer (Gary will bend your ear for a solid half hour about taxes, Majorca, his auntie Mavis, Liverpool, fuel prices or whatever else is on his mind). The man is a Holywood celebrity, he literally knows everyone and could talk for Ireland.

Anyway he was busy, so I sat down with one of the two Asian sisters who also work there. These girls really are wizards with scissors, they are very precise and normally do a great job.

So I just asked for a good trim, to leave it messy on top and get the back and sides tidied up. Tidy it up she did. My goodness. She just kept cutting.

20 minutes later and I had a baseball cap-esque 'flick' straight out of the year 1999.

It was crazy, I haven't seen the like of it since P7. (This picture really doesn't it justice, google doesn't seem to have heard of a flick.) Tons of gel, combed right down, with a massive vertical flick, I looked like a total idiot. I walked out the door, looked at my reflection in the next window and immediately smoothed it right down to hide my shame.

The last haircut I had was from an American girl in the kitchen of an old people's home and it was perfect! Gary, my faith in your establishment has been firmly shaken.