This crisp, bright, morning following about fifteen hours of rain, I ambled around Sigoules with my camera. The photographs will form the bulk of today’s post, which will please Louisa who always checks their lengths before deciding whether to read my offerings.
No. 36 rue St Jacques is an unoccupied hairdresser’s that has been empty as long as I have known it. The tiling and lettering on the facade dates its heyday. Sigoules has more than its share of trichologists.
As a child in Raynes Park I was always given a short back and sides. Apart from being the fashion in the ’40s and ’50s, that was all my parents could afford. Because my locks are so fast-growing I needed one of these every six weeks. Mum quipped that I was costing her a fortune.
For about thirty years Michael of ‘Jeffery and Michael’ in Little Venice was my hairdresser. During the Newark years Phil cut the family hair and became a friend. As I was in London during the weekdays, I continued with Michael who, when he retired, offered to continue to serve me from his home. I was then beyond retirement age myself, and focussing on balancing my own loyalty to my clients with my desire to cease my main occupation, so I declined his offer. For the next six years I tried a number of alternatives, but constant moves of home meant I never kept one for long.
The worst disaster was a visit to a barber’s in Westbourne Grove. He began by taking low-set clippers straight up the back. Knowing I would have no option but to allow him to complete the destruction, like a resigned sheep, I tolerated the shearing and emerged a skinhead. After all, my preferred length would have looked rather ridiculous with a prepared cricket pitch running through it. Perhaps I would have been safer in the hands of Sweeney Todd. ‘See you again soon’, he said, preparing to allow me to kick free and scamper away. ‘I might be some time’, was my reply. I wonder if he ever saw me subsequently entering the establishment of Kris from Latvia across the road.
The proprietor of ‘Studio Hair’ has given me a couple of good cuts, but I am not here often enough to be a regular. I was very pleased, therefore, to find Donna-Marie in Ringwood (see post of 10th December 2012).
Judith and Roger joined me for the Code Bar feast at lunchtime when we spent an enjoyable couple of hours together. Among the topics of conversation was their 2006 cruise in pursuit of the total solar eclipse they viewed in Libya. Carefully planning their accommodation they had booked a cabin with a balcony on the correct side of the ship from which to experience the rare phenomenon. When underway they were informed that the vessel would then be approaching from the opposite direction.
Our meal, accompanied by red wine, consisted of onion soup; stuffed avocado, pate, gherkins and onions; steak and chips; and creme brulee for Roger and profiteroles for Judith and me. Frederick knew I would choose profiteroles because he had read my blog. My friends were suitably impressed with both the fare and the ambience.