I remember as a young lad going to the barbershop.
No confusion in those days - barbers were for men and hairdressers were for women. There was a red and white pole outside the shop and inside there was one chair and one barber.
Magazines were about cars or there were boys comics. The chair was multi purpose - big boys and adults got to sit in the always leather chair and youngsters sat on a board which was placed over the arms of the same chair.
Simply days indeed.
Initially there was no choice of haircut - everyone had the same short, back and sides. (Older guys were into the crew cut and then copies of Rock and Roll singers' styles) Then came the Beatles and the various styles that followed on from there.
But now. In some places it is difficult to find a barber (I did find one in Harrogate one year with a wonderfully camp fellow - more of him later). Now we have unisex hairdressers.
The first difference with these establishments is that apparently you need an appointment and here comes the first question - "is there any hairdresser in particular that you wish the appointment with ?". Oh God, I can't remember, and I do not have the nerve to ask for the nice blonde one.
Arriving to keep the said appointment we find women at various stages of whatever they do with their hair. The work they are having done is often unfathomable to us men and looks like they are being made up for the set of Star Wars. This work is accompanied with a constant stream of gossip between the women, the hairdresser and anyone else in the salon (is that what you call it ?) that may be worth tapping for information.
Our favourite literature has been replaced with Home and Garden and every type of women's interest magazine imaginable - none of which we are sure whether to read or not, because it might spoil or macho image and/or adversely affect our virility.
And then, it is your turn for a haircut. Once the preliminaries are done with the interrogation begins.
"What can we do for you today Sir ?". Well I would have thought it was obvious and you could have taken a rough guess - but how about you cut my hair.
"Dry or Wet Sirs ?". Is this my haircut we are discussing or have we started talking about the weather.
"Is it above or below the ear, Sir ?" seems to be a very popular question - is the ear some sort of national guideline that I don't know about ?.
"Razor or scissors, Sir ?"
By this time you start thinking who is working here - him or me - I don't know you're the expert, use what you consider appropriate.
"Will I trim the top, Sir ?" - Well it's part of my head hair and, yes, there is not much left but that is no excuse for you to ignore it.
Mercifully you are near the end of this torturous ordeal.
"Do you wish the back square or tapered, Sir ?"
Decisions, decisions - I don't care mate - I can't even see so why should I be bothered.
Then comes the electric razor to trim the edges. It's amazing how shaky some hands become when some people lift one of those things.
Once this is done you come to the final flourish, which to be fair even the old barbers did - the mirror is held behind you and you are asked politely " Is that okay for you Sir ?".
Tempting though it is, I have never had the nerve to say no. I wonder what they would do if I did. Of course it's then that you realise you should have decided between square or tapered.
And so you pay, more and more each time for less and less effort required by the person you are paying - but to be fair, my disappearing hair is not the fault of the barber - sorry hair stylist.
By the time you get out you have had to make so many decisions for the hairdresser that you are now feeling that you need a rest.
Not like when you were a boy and could sit down, have a blether and let the barber get on with it.
Ah when life was simpler.
PS Back to the camp barber in Harrogate. I'll always remember that he said he was like Izal toilet paper - hard as nails and took no sh**
