Locks Lopped

On a trip out with Ferretfingers last week we walked past the barbers and noticed the door was open.  The staff were inside cleaning up after redecoration and refurbishment and preparing for reopening.

From the doorstep I asked “Will you be opening on Saturday?”

“Yes, but you’ll have to make an appointment and leave your phone number and contact details”

“That’s fine by me.”

“When would you like to come in?”

I consulted with Ferretfingers: “Saturday” was the firm reply.

“What time on Saturday?”

“What time do you open?”

We settled on 10.30 and were up there on time to stand in a socially distance queue until we were allowed in.  There was handsanitizing on the way in and out and I filled out the form assuring them we hadn’t been anywhere near the virus, putting in our names and phone numbers.As usual Ferretfingers demanded the music be turned off.Actually he demanded that they change the tv channel from Capitol Music to Challenge TV but that was beyond the barber’s technical ability.

Ferretfingers wasn’t allowed to put any weight on his broken ankle for 6 weeks after the pin and plate were but in.  By which time lockdown was at full strength.  So he hadn’t had a haircut since January (maybe even before Christmas).

All his lovely curls fell to the floor as the barber made the best attempt to make his hairline “look respectable” where he’d gone at it with the beard trimmer.

Luckily he has inherited my widow’s peak so it didn’t look too bad.

He is now looking much smarter and happier.

At least he no longer looks like something out of The Rocky Horror Picture Show.