A trip to the Barbers

I went to the barber’s yesterday. Nothing remarkable in that, except that the barber’s has just opened and I was his first customer.

£10 to keep my rugged looks was a bargain, I thought.

Turns out the guy is Turkish, speaks two words of English (Boss, 5) and is obviously straight off the boat from Istanbul. Now, when I’m travelling to weird places, I always make a point of visiting the barbers in some weird challenge to the HIV virus. I’ve had my head massaged in Kashmir and my stubble scraped in Marakesh, but I didn’t expect what I got in Braintree.

Face shaved. Not just my beard. All of it.
Eyebrows trimmed
Nose hair trimmed (!)
Ear hair trimmed
Neck shaved

Then came the best bit. Mustafa picks up a FLAMING TORCH doused in meths. Interesting, I thought. What’s he gonna do with that? Sterilise the comb?

Nope, the fucker sets fire to my ears. Really. Sets fire to them. I doesn’t hurt because it’s so quick and whoosh!, every last errant hair from my ears is gone. Took ten years off me, the misses says.

Now, as I said, I’m used to weird stuff because I get out a lot, but I have a sneaking suspicion Mustafa is going to get a very different reaction from the tattooed, Stella belching, sovereign ringed apes of Braintree when he tries to set fire to their ears.

Note: Photo above is from a Polish haidressers. Really