My Story: Shoulda Woulda Coulda by Stopfordian Stationer

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NOTE: This is different from the stuff I have written before and it is a mainly true account of my hair "story" and how the first part of it has stayed with me for such a long time and made me wonder how things might have worked out differently if I had done as I had intended. The first part also includes what did happen, scenarios of what should have happened and what I now daydream might have happened. Hope it doesn’t get too confusing. I have changed names but the events and details are accurate. I hope that putting this in writing and sharing it will mean I have an actual written reference on which I can reflect. It’s also in some ways a tribute to my dad, who passed away a couple of years ago and was a wonderful man and fantastic father. You will see he features quite a lot, in the early instalments at least.


I was born in the 1970s in a large city in the North of England and lived with my mum, dad and two older brothers. This first instalment is set at the beginning of the 1980s when haircuts first became part of my consciousness. I always find stories set in that period, especially in the UK, most striking to me personally, particularly SteDJ’s stories as they are such a realistic and evocative description of that era. When I was a little kid, I would be taken now and again by my dad along with my two brothers to Frank Floyd, who was the local old school no-nonsense barber. I remember nothing at all about the haircuts but I guess it must just have been an average fairly short boy’s haircut for the time. I do have an abiding memory of screaming the place down once at about four of five years old when I was made to get my hair cut when I didn’t think I was going to. It wasn’t that Frank wasn’t nice or anything like that but for some reason I just did not want a haircut and got myself into a state when I had to get one.

Although my dad carried on going to Frank’s himself, he stopped taking my brothers and me there probably when I was about six. My oldest brother Dominic was out of the picture by then as he is 10 years older than me and just went on his own when we wanted to. I think he might have kept going to Frank’s as well. We tried various places in our local area but my mum once saw a kid coming out of a gents’ hairdressers near where we lived with a haircut she liked so my other brother Alex and I were taken there for a while, not always at the same time. I didn’t really like having my hair cut and it was becoming sensitive for me since I started school as it became apparent that my ears stuck out. I became known at school (amongst other things) as Big Ears. I know there are a lot worse things to be called but when you are just a little kid, these things really play on your mind. Because of that, I wanted to keep my ears covered up as much as possible and I was allowed to grow my hair long so it was mainly over them. My hair would normally be cut so about half my ears were covered and it would be over most if not all of them by the time it was cut again. I was dimly aware of short haircuts, as a couple of the boys in my class at school had short-cropped hair including the odd crew cut, or skinhead as they were universally known at the time. One of the lads with a skinhead in my class was called Michael and lived across the road from me. Michael and his bother Paul, who was about two or three years older than us, both had very short hair and were both quite proud of it, we used to talk about it now and again and they told me when they were going to be getting it done again soon. Looking back now I can see I was interested but it would never have occurred to me at the time that I might have wanted something like that for myself, in fact I would have run a mile from it.

Probably just after I started junior school (aged seven), My dad told Alex and me that a guy he worked with had a son who was a barber who did mobile barbering in the evenings and that he would be coming to our house to cut our hair from then on. That was then the routine for almost 10 years, Richard would come every six weeks or so, normally on a Tuesday or Wednesday evening, and cut my hair as well as Alex’s and my dad’s. I remember the first time Richard came that my dad had his hair cut differently from how I had always known it but after that nothing ever changed: Alex went first and had the short at the sides and long at the back cut that was in style for teenage boys at the time (Alex is six years older than I am) then I would have my standard half over the ears trim before my dad went last. There was no mirror, the cuts were in our back room sitting on a dining chair with a towel around our shoulders and the floor underneath covered with newspaper. I think my interest in haircuts was starting to kick in by now because I wouldn’t have minded going to the barber’s, sitting in the big chair and having a cape put over me before watching in the mirror as my hair was cut. What I am about to describe also makes me think it must have been kicking in.

The incident that mainly sticks in my mind happened when I was nine. Andy, one of the lads in my class with whom I was quite friendly, came into school one morning with a new haircut. It was pretty short and spiky and stuck up quite a bit in a way I found quite appealing for some reason. It wasn’t as short as Paul and Michael’s but was still significantly shorter than my over the ears mop. Looking back with the benefit of experience it was what would be called a long crew cut, probably a number four all over. I wouldn’t have known that at the time as things like clipper guards were completely unknown to me. I didn’t even know about clippers as I only ever had my hair cut with scissors. Anyway, I decided I wanted that haircut and I told my mum and dad about it. My dad because he was responsible for supervising my haircuts as my mum worked evenings and was rarely there when they happened and my mum because she was the sole judge of whether or not it would be deemed "acceptable". I also asked Andy about it and he said his uncle’s girlfriend was a hairdresser and she had done it. My mum and dad both said OK and I was so keen to make sure that I got the same haircut that I got my dad to talk to Andy’s uncle to see what to ask for when Richard next came to cut our hair. Everything was set and I was definitely having my hair cut like Andy’s.

I don’t know how long I had to wait before Richard was next due to come but as it got to the last couple of days before I was very well aware what was going to happen and I was excited to be getting my new haircut soon. The night came, Richard arrived and Alex went first as usual. I was in the other room and started getting butterflies in my stomach but didn’t think anything of it. When Alex was finished my dad shouted me to go into the other room as it was my turn. When I went in, before I sat down my dad asked me the question that I still reflect on now: "Are you having it cut like Andy’s?" I don’t even know why, whether it was because I was being put on the spot or I suddenly got cold feet but I chickened out and said no. My dad huffed a little bit but that was the end of it, I sat down, the towel went around my shoulders and I got my usual trim. Nothing else was ever said about it by anyone.

To this day, I regret that one word, "No". I think about the ways it could have been different â€" I could have just said yes or my dad might not have asked, in which case I would not have said anything. Either way, dad would have told Richard whatever instructions he had been given by Andy’s uncle and I would have got the long crew cut. I really, really wish even now over 40 years later that I had gone ahead because that would have meant I had got over the need I now recognise I had to hide under my hair. I did not actually manage to get away from that for a few more years subsequently and I can’t help feeling that would have made me much happier and more confident in myself as a kid if I had been able to do it. I don’t allow myself many regrets in life but that is certainly one of them. The process of me actually managing to do that will follow in subsequent instalments.

So that is what actually happened. Now on to the different possible scenarios that have occurred to me over the years that might have happened and stick in my mind:


SHOULDA - WHAT SHOULD HAVE HAPPENED

‘Patrick’, dad was shouting me. ‘Alex is done, you can come in here now.’
I stood up and walked into the back room where Alex was stood brushing loose hairs from his shoulders. I waited for him to move out of the way and then stepped onto the newspaper covering the floor, aware of it crinkling under my feet. As I was about to sit down on the chair waiting in the middle of the floor, dad asked me ‘Are you having it cut like Andy’s?’
‘Yep’, I replied and sat down.
Dad draped the towel around my shoulders over the top of my T-shirt and Richard started to comb my hair out before asking his customary question to dad before he cut my hair: ‘The usual?’
‘No, he wants it like one of his mates at school. It’s a number four all over,’ dad replied.
Richard was shocked as he had been cutting my hair for a couple of years now and was well aware of my terror of having my ears uncovered. ‘Wow, are you sure?’, he asked. ‘You know a number four will be much shorter than usual and well off his ears don’t you?’
‘That’s what he wants,’ dad replied. ‘You know your ears won’t be covered up any more don’t you, Patrick?’
I hadn’t really thought about it in those terms but I was sure I wanted the same haircut as Andy, for all I was wondering why dad and Richard kept mentioning the number four. I nodded vigorously.
‘OK, you’re the boss,’ said Richard. ‘You sure?’
I nodded again, more vigorously this time.
This was enough to convince Richard. ‘Right, let’s get cracking then in that case,’ he said.

He turned around to rummage in his bag of hair cutting implements which was next to him on the table. I don’t know what I was expecting but I assumed it would all be done with scissors as usual so was surprised when I saw some sort of machine in his hand which he turned around and plugged in at the socket behind him. He turned the machine on and it began to make a buzzing sound. Richard stood to one side of me and lifted up my long fringe with his comb before placing the buzzing machine at my forehead and slowly pushing it backwards across the top of my head. I was still shocked that I was having my hair cut with this strange machine instead of scissors and as there was no mirror I could not see what was happening but a gap appeared in the middle of my fringe as I looked through it and I heard the sound of something heavy hitting the newspaper on the floor behind me. Several more passes over the top of my head followed and I could see clearly rather than looking through a curtain of hair as usual so it was obvious that my long fringe was all gone. He then lifted the hair over one ear with the comb and ran the machine over that and as he continued going over the side, I could feel my ear was now uncovered for the first time I could remember. I was also startled by a massive long hank of mousy brown hair, probably six inches long, that slid down the towel over my shoulders and settled in my lap. Round the back now, up and up and up, right to the top of my head and over the crown. More huge chunks of hair landed all over me. When that was done, Richard went round to the other side and uncovered my other ear in the same way as he had the first. As well as the hair all over me, I could see mounds of my long hair strewn all over the newspaper on the floor. The machine continued going over and over my head for a bit longer but there was nothing like as much coming off now. I was conscious that dad and Richard were chatting away with each other but didn’t really register what they were saying. Richard then used the machine to tidy up around the edges before it was finally turned off and the room went quiet again.

‘There you go, mate, all done,’ Richard said as he brushed around my face and neck to get rid of as many stray little hairs as he could. The towel was taken off me, I stood up and finally went to see how it looked for the first time. There was a mirror on the wall but I wasn’t tall enough to be able to look into it so my dad picked me up and I could see my reflection. As dad ran his hand over the top of my head, the first thing I noticed, even before my ears, was the bare forehead staring back at me. What remained of the top stood up on end and I could see the sides which looked bushier but still spiky as I remembered Andy’s had looked.
‘What do you think then, Patrick,’ asked dad. ‘Do you like it?’
‘I think so,’ I said. ‘I like it all spiky and fluffy like this.’
‘Good lad,’ replied dad, putting me down and ruffling the top of my head again. ‘You look nice and neat and tidy now and it will be easier for you having it short like that.’
‘You did really well there, Patrick,’ added Richard. ‘A lot of boys older than you don’t like the clippers and wriggle about and fidget when I’m using them, but you didn’t bother at all.’
I rubbed my head for the first time as dad sat down to get his hair cut and loved how it felt compared to the long mop that had been there for as long as I could remember. I knew that I would be having this the next time Richard came and the next time and the next time. Alex thought it was hilarious and teased me non-stop but my mum quite liked it when she came home from work later and saw it. I suspect that would have meant I was keeping it even if I hadn’t liked it.


WOULDA - WHAT I NOW DAYDREAM MIGHT HAVE HAPPENED

‘Patrick’, dad was shouting me. ‘Alex is done, you can come in here now.’
I stood up and walked into the back room where Alex was stood brushing loose hairs from his shoulders. I waited for him to move out of the way and then stepped onto the newspaper covering the floor, aware of it crinkling under my feet. As I was about to sit down on the chair waiting in the middle of the floor, dad asked me ‘Are you having it cut like Andy’s?’
‘Yep’, I replied and sat down.
Dad draped the towel around my shoulders over the top of my T-shirt and Richard started to comb my hair out before asking his customary question to dad before he cut my hair: ‘The usual?’
‘No, he wants it like one of his mates at school. It’s a number four all over,’ dad replied.
Richard was shocked as he had been cutting my hair for a couple of years now and was well aware of my terror of having my ears uncovered. ‘Wow, are you sure?’, he asked. ‘You know a number four will be much shorter than usual and well off his ears don’t you?’
‘That’s what he wants,’ dad replied. ‘You know your ears won’t be covered up any more don’t you, Patrick?’
I hadn’t really thought about it in those terms but I was sure I wanted the same haircut as Andy, for all I was wondering why dad and Richard kept mentioning the number four. I nodded vigorously.
‘OK, you’re the boss,’ said Richard. ‘You sure?’
I nodded again, more vigorously this time.
This was enough to convince Richard. ‘Right, let’s get cracking then in that case,’ he said.

He turned around to rummage in his bag of hair cutting implements which was next to him on the table. ‘Oh hang on a minute,’ he said after rooting about for a bit. ‘I’ve no number four comb with me, I’ve only got one and two. They would be much too short for him. I can try to do it with scissors but it will take ages and I don’t know if I’d get it short enough.’
‘Never mind then,’ dad replied. ‘You’ll have to wait until next time, Patrick. Just give him his usual for now, Richard.’
‘Aww, why?’ I protested. There was no way I wanted to wait another six weeks. I didn’t understand all the numbers being mentioned and why I couldn’t just get the haircut I wanted.
‘Tell you what, Cliff,’ Richard continued. ‘If you can bring him to the shop, I’ll do it there no bother. It’s a ten minute job if that.’
Dad asked where the shop was and what days Richard was there. Richard gave him directions and told him he worked there every day except Mondays and Saturdays. ‘OK then,’ dad continued. ‘I’ll bring him after school tomorrow afternoon. Jump up off the chair Patrick, I’ll get mine done now.’
I got up and left them to it. I still didn’t understand why but at least I wouldn’t have to wait too long.

The following afternoon dad picked me up from school as usual and we made a short drive to the shop where Richard was working. I still hadn’t worked out why I couldn’t get my hair cut last night so I asked dad on the way. ‘He is going to cut your hair with clippers,’ dad explained. ‘There are different guard things you put on them to cut your hair different lengths and he didn’t have the right one with him last night so he couldn’t do it.’
‘What are clippers?’ I asked.
‘It’s an electric hair cutting machine,’ dad replied. ‘It’s easier to use them than scissors when you are having it short and all the same length like you want it.’
An electric hair cutting machine was a new development that I hadn’t considered but I didn’t have time to ask anything else as we had arrived at the barber’s and dad was parking outside.

We went in and both chairs were occupied although there was nobody waiting. Richard was just finishing off a customer in the chair nearest the window and greeted us as we sat down in the waiting area. ‘Alright, Cliff, Hiya, Patrick. I’ll be done here in a minute and we’ll get you in the chair and fixed up.’ It was no only a short time before Richard’s customer was finished and had paid and left and Richard came back with a booster cushion and put it on the barber’s chair. Dad lifted me up and put me on the cushion and Richard put a big black cape around me and fastened it at the back of my neck.
‘Four all over then?’ asked Richard.
‘Yep, that’s it,’ dad replied.
Richard turned around to the counter and picked something up before turning back to me. ‘Still sure about this, mate?’ he asked me.
I nodded like I had last night. ‘Yeah,’ I said. I pointed to what was in his hand. ‘Are they clippers?’ I asked. ‘Dad said you were going to cut my hair with clippers. I’ve never had that before’.
‘They certainly are,’ replied Richard. ‘Just sit back there and they will make short work of your hair, you’ll be done in no time,’ and with that he turned the clippers on and came towards me.

Richard lifted up my long fringe with his comb before placing the clippers at my forehead and slowly pushing them backwards across the top of my head. I watched intently in the mirror as they chewed a stripe of short bristles in my fringe and right down the middle of my head. I opened my mouth wide in shock as I looked at it. Richard chuckled and after several more passes over the top of my head my long fringe was all gone and my bare forehead stared back at me, contrasting with the long thick hair still hanging over my ears. He then lifted the hair over one ear with the comb and ran the clippers over that and as he continued going over the side, I could see my ear was now uncovered for the first time I could remember. And sticking out. A massive long hank of mousy brown hair, probably six inches long, slid down the cape and settled in my lap. Round the back now, up and up and up, right to the top of my head and over the crown. More huge chunks of hair landed all over me and I kept looking in the mirror as the clippers rapidly took most of my hair off. When all that was done, Richard went round to the other side and uncovered my other ear in the same way as he had the first. As well as a huge amount of hair on the cape, I could see mounds of my long hair strewn all over the floor around the barber’s chair. The clippers continued going over and over my head for a bit longer but there was nothing like as much coming off now. I was conscious that dad and Richard were chatting away with each other but didn’t really register what they were saying. Richard then used the clippers to tidy up around the edges before finally turning them off. I was finished.

‘There you go, mate, all done,’ Richard said as he brushed around my face and neck to get rid of as many stray little hairs as he could. He loosened the cape, brushed round my neck again and took it off me. Dad walked over and ran his hand over the top of my head, and as I looked at my reflection, what remained of the top stood up on end and the sides looked bushier but still spiky as I remembered Andy’s had looked.
‘What do you think then, Patrick,’ asked dad. ‘Do you like it?’
‘I think so,’ I said. ‘I like it all spiky and fluffy like this.’
‘Good lad,’ replied dad, picking me up out of the chair before putting me down and ruffling the top of my head again. ‘You look nice and neat and tidy now and it will be easier for you having it short like that.’
‘You did really well there, Patrick,’ added Richard. ‘A lot of boys older than you don’t like the clippers and wriggle about and fidget when I’m using them, but you didn’t bother at all.’
I rubbed my head for the first time and loved how it felt compared to the long mop that had been there for as long as I could remember. I knew that I would be having this the next time Richard came to our house and the next time and the next time. When we got home Alex thought it was hilarious and teased me non-stop but my mum quite liked it. I suspect that would have meant I was keeping it even if I hadn’t liked it.


COULDA - WHAT I THINK NOW WOULD HAVE BEEN COOL BUT I WOULD NEVER HAVE WANTED THEN

When Paul and Michael first got their hair cut really short, I remember going over to their house and playing with them in their garden. One of their older sisters was there as well and was pulling their leg. She told me they had both had a fight with a lawnmower the day before and we all laughed. From then on, that was the term Michael always used when he talked about getting his haircut. He would say something like "I’m going for a fight with a lawnmower on Saturday". Paul and Michael’s dad Kevin looked quite strict and scary as he was a big man but he was actually lovely when you got to know him Everyone assumed their dad had made them get their hair cut like that but both of them seemed to like it and were happy to have it cut like that fairly regularly. There was a part of me that secretly began to wish I could have the same.

My hair was a fairly regular source of discussion between my parents and me. I think they would have preferred me to have some sort of short back and sides style cut and short haircuts on boys my age were sometimes pointed out to me accompanied by phrases such as "Don’t you think that looks nice?" with a view to persuading me to have the same. When haircuts were mentioned in our house and my mum or dad talked about my hair being too long and that I should have it shorter, I always whined and protested about being teased at school about my ears until they relented. Dad in particular used to mention Paul and Michael and occasionally said I should have my hair cut like theirs. He would never have gone through with it and made me do it if I didn’t want it though.

Then one time, I had a brainstorm, I don’t know what came over me. I was having a standard hair discussion with mum and dad and dad said that I should get my hair cut short like Michael’s. Much to everyone’s astonishment (including my own), I just blurted out, ‘Alright then.’
‘You what?’ I had taken dad completely by surprise.
‘Can I get my hair cut like Michael’s?’ I ploughed on. ‘That’s how I want it.’
‘You don’t want your hair cut like that!’ my mum said. ‘It’s too short’.
Dad had recovered now though and was not having that. ‘Is it heck,’ he said. ‘Is that really what you want, Patrick?’
Was it what I wanted? I suddenly wasn’t so sure but thought I might as well stick with it since I had finally said it. ‘Yes it is,’ I replied.
Dad had now seized on the fact I had expressed an interest in a short haircut and was ready to run with it. ‘Right that’s settled then,’ he said. ‘I’ll see Kevin about what to ask for and then I’ll take you to Frank Floyd’s to have it done.’
Dad had stopped taking us to Frank’s by then and we went to a gents’ hairdressers instead so mum protested but again dad disagreed. ‘If he wants it all off, Frank Floyd can do that no problem at all.’

The day after, I saw dad over the road talking to Kevin and I didn’t have any doubt what it was about. It was the day after that that dad collared me. "Saturday morning I’m taking you to Frank Floyd’s and you’re having a crew cut like Michael’s."
After my initial bravery, I was beginning to get cold feet so I started off "I’m not sure now . . ."
Dad cut me off dead. "Never mind not sure. You said that was what you wanted and you are not changing your mind now. You are having a crew cut on Saturday and that’s it finished. Right?"
I could see there was no point arguing and it was happening now whether I liked it or not. I nodded. "OK."
At school on the Friday afternoon, I was talking to Michael and told him. ‘Guess what I am doing tomorrow morning?’, I asked.
‘Dunno,’ he replied.
‘I’m going to have a fight with a lawnmower,’ I announced. ‘Just like you do.’
He was really surprised as I had never mentioned anything before about doing that but he told me it would be good. I promised to go over to show him and Paul when I got back from the barber’s so he didn’t have to wait until Monday to see it.

The following day I was up early as usual and straight after breakfast I headed off with dad for the chop. Frank’s shop wasn’t far so we walked rather than going in the car and after about ten minutes dad guided me through the door and inside. There were two barber’s chairs in the shop but only one was in use as Frank worked in the shop on his own. Although it was still pretty early, there was a boy probably a couple of years older than me in the chair who seemed to be nearly finished having a pretty short haircut plus an older boy and a man, who I assumed to be father and son, sitting on the waiting bench that ran along the length of the shop. We walked to the far end of the bench and sat down to wait. After a few minutes the boy in the chair was done and came back to the waiting bench to be replaced by the older boy, who was obviously his brother. The boy was probably about Alex’s age or maybe a bit older and his dark hair was touching the top of his ears, brushing his collar and hanging over his eyebrows at the front, all fairly standard for the time. The dad stood up, walked over to the side of the chair and said to Frank, "Just the same again please, Frank. A good short back and sides, plenty off the top and just a bit of fringe left." The boy didn’t look very pleased but didn’t say anything as Frank covered him with the cape and set to work.

I wasn’t really taking that much notice as I was only thinking about what would shortly be happening to me. I was aware that there was a buzzing sound filling the shop and after a couple of minutes dad nudged me and pointed to Frank. "You see that, Patrick?" he said.
"What’s that?" I asked. I could see the buzzing noise was coming from a machine that Frank was using on the back and sides of the boy in the chair. Huge chunks of his hair were coming off and hitting the floor behind the chair.
"They are clippers," dad explained. "He’ll be using them on you, no scissors today."
Looking at what they were doing to the boy in the chair’s hair, that didn’t reassure me. It was probably about 15 minutes before the cape was loosened and the boy stepped down from the chair, looking even less pleased than he had when he had heard his dad’s instructions. All he had left was short, clipped hair at the back and sides that was nowhere near his ears or collar and a bit left on top. The fringe that had been just above his eyebrows was now barely below the top of his forehead. I was expecting the dad to get in the chair next but he was just there to supervise the boys and instead he paid and the three of them all left so it was now just dad and me on the waiting bench and it was my turn. I swallowed hard.

"Who’s next then?" Frank asked. Dad pointed to me and I stood up and walked over towards the barber’s chair.
"Just a sec, young man," Frank said and he went into the back of the shop before coming back with a plank which he placed across the arms of the chair. "OK, you can jump up now." Dad lifted me up and sat me down on the plank and Frank wrapped a light green cloth around my shoulders. He picked up a matching light green cape and swirled it around me before fastening it at the back. He then picked up a comb and began combing out my long and terribly messy hair before finally turning to dad and asking "What’s he having then?"
"Can you give him a crew cut please, Frank. Number two all over," came the swift reply.
"That’s a big change for him, you know that will be very short?" asked Frank.
"Yes we know, he’s asked for it himself so we’re going to give it a try." I reflected briefly that I had asked for it but wasn’t sure I still wanted it. It was too late for that now though.
"OK, no problem," said Frank, obviously thinking no more of it. He turned to me and smiled. "All off then, eh?"
I couldn’t say anything now so I just nodded. As I looked at myself in the mirror, I heard Frank turn on the clippers and then he came towards me.

Starting on the right side, Frank pushed the buzzing clippers into the long and thick hair in front of my ear. He moved them up slowly against the resistance from the hair before removing them and flicking the massive clump of hair that had been removed down onto the floor. This process was continued until he had done the whole of the right side of my head and my ear was fully uncovered. Once that was done, I felt Frank’s hand on the top of my head as he manoeuvred it downwards and I was left looking at my lap and the cape, which was already covered with hair. While still gripping the top of my head, Frank moved the clippers up and up the back of my head and repeated the process several times before releasing my head and moving round to my left side where the clippers soon removed all the hair to expose my left ear. I could see in the mirror that the sides were closely clipped all the way to the top and I assumed the back must be the same. The huge mop of hair on top still remained intact.

Still standing to my left, Frank picked up my fringe with his hand, exposing my forehead and pushed the clippers into my hairline at the front. As the clippers moved backwards I stared in apprehension in the mirror as almost nothing was left behind. The process was repeated, front to back, front to back, front to back as Frank’s clippers mowed all my hair off and it looked like it was all gone and all I had on my head was stubble. What hadn’t occurred to me before was that my hair was lighter than Michael’s so it looked even shorter than his. Frank carried on running the clippers all over my head for a few more minutes to make sure he didn’t miss anything although I was sure there could be nothing left. I looked in the mirror and my long hair, my defence mechanism, my comfort blanket, had disappeared. I was scalped, more or less bald. My ears stuck out terribly and my forehead was totally bare. It was a total shock to the system and I didn’t know whether I liked it or hated it. I felt tears in the corners of my eyes but blinked them back.

Frank eventually finished and took the cape off and dad lifted me down to the floor. I ran my hand over my head and felt nothing but prickles, like sandpaper. It was an interesting feeling and I quite liked it although I still wasn’t sure it was worth it just for that. Dad ruffled the top of my head and said ‘That’s a proper, sharp haircut you’ve got there now, you look really smart. Good lad.’ After paying Frank he took me to the shop next door and bought me some sweets as a reward for having my hair cut short and for behaving so well while I was waiting and having it done. We chatted as we walked home again although I was still feeling shocked after being shorn and going from one extreme to the other. The rest of the day was mainly taken up with having my forehead slapped and ears flicked, both by Paul and Michael when I went to show them my new haircut and by Alex when he came back from playing football in the afternoon. I’m not going to deny that there were more tears. Alex did at least relent when dad told him that if he wasn’t careful then he could easily find himself with Frank Floyd’s clippers going all over his head in the same way. I still didn’t recognise myself when I looked in the mirror and I didn’t know whether I wanted to keep it or even whether I would be made to keep it. All I did know for certain was that Monday at school was going to be hell.


So they are my early memories of what first shaped my interest in haircuts and the fictional bits are now done. Everything that follows subsequently will be my actual true experiences.

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