I had my hair cut this morning.  We are going to a ‘suoerheros’ fancy dress tonight, I’m going as Bob Parr, and as I have splashed out on the outfit, I thought the hair should be as short as his. (photo to follow)

The barbers I go to is very popular, but I was lucky as there was not a queue. They usually have four chairs occupied.  Today there were three barbers working, only one was busy when I got there so I was straight in the chair, minutes later a seven year old was brought in by his mum.

The place soon had the usual queue, it’s a jolly place in a small town and people tend to chat quite a bit, it is very social in there, when two ladies came in with five children, two girls two boys and a babe in arms.  The barbers all greeted the boys as they had been there only yesterday.  One of the mums apologised for interrupting and started to explain why they were there;

“You cut the boys’ hair yesterday” she said, the barbers all agreed this was the case

“they were with this lady” she said holding out a photo, the barbers again agreed this was the case, the mum insisted they take the photo

“she’s our mum” she said indicating to her sister “she’s their grandmum and she has no right to have their hair cut, it’s not your fault because you didn’t know, but if she brings them again to have their hair cut, please please say no, it’s not the first time she has done this and she has ignored us when we have said she’s not to do it.”

“Didn’t she do it at the barbers on Westway?” said one of the barbers

“Yes, last year, how did you know?”

“I heard about it when I worked there last year”

The ladies apologised for interrupting, we all agreed it was perfectly fine and in fact, rather entertaining, and they left.

“Is grandmum a word?” asked one of the chaps in the queue

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