Just a Haircut please...not the life story.

Just had my haircut at the local hair salon. Looks alright I suppose, if I wear a paper bag over my head and go out under the cover of darkness. What is it about hairdressers and gossip? My local salon thrives on it, they can remember things you told them about three years ago, kinda scary when they relay word for word what you said. I hate that, last thing I want when having a haircut is to talk about why my brother is gay or why my ex boyfriend is such a bastard.

Micki the trainee stylist and as effeminate as Julian Clary on a bad day thinks he's in with a chance, do me a favour mate, fuck off my brother has taste desparate he aint.

During the course of half an hour, I've picked up loads of useless information, Micki suffers from headaches, Claire has split ends that she hates and Vera the dear old lady sitting in the chair next to me is as deaf as a post. I reckon she's putting it on just to avoid the interrogating questions. Wish I'd thought of it.