The Barber's Reflection

10.30. Why do I start at nine? No point. Apart from Saturdays. Who wants to work on Saturdays. I
don’t. Should have left this game years ago. Abroad. Should have gone abroad. What is there here?
Crap weather and taxes. I never used to mind the weather but I feel it in my bones these days. The
arthritis has definitely got worse in the fingers. Arthritis in the fingers is a bad thing when you cut
hair all day. Should have left this place a long time ago. I feel as scuffed as this floor. Soon be getting
busy now. I hope. Wish it was Saturday. Always busy on a Saturday. If I ever saw that Geldof fella
I’d tell him why I don’t like Mondays. It’s because nobody comes into my bloody shop. I’d read the
paper but I can’t face the same lies by different politicians. The same apologies for the same failings.
Round and round they go. Liars. Should have left this game years ago.
The new lad, Conner, is ok but to him it’s all about “styling” and “body”. Whatever happened to
short back and sides and a moan about how United are doing. I suppose working here will be just a
stepping stone for him. Fair enough. Good luck to him and his future. Maybe before he leaves I can
teach him to clear up when he finishes on a Saturday. That mirror is filthy. Looking at it maybe the
filth is doing me a favour. If it were clean those wrinkles and that chin would be there in glorious
technicolour to remind me in case my memory had forgotten to tell me this morning that I’m getting
older. Getting older faster. I should get away for a while. Ten days, fortnight. Bit of sun. Change
the backdrop as they say. Maybe I’ve still got a bit of spark left. Bit of sun. Be just the job. The heat
would chase that arthritis away for a few days. Blue skies, a few beers. Do me the world of good.
This dinnertime. Get some brochures. Maybe get some new clobber as well. Might even meet a
woman. Women go on holiday don’t they. Course they do daft bugger. Might get along. Not as much
as me and my Val did. But might get along. Would be nice. Bit of company. No harm in that. Bit of
sun, bit of company. No man is an island an all that. And as men aren’t ducks they can’t live on bread
alone. I wonder how much Conner would charge me for some styling. I’ll ask him. After he’s cleaned
the filth off that bloody mirror.

Daniel M.