Friday, 7 November 2014

Almost cut my hair


Our Man passes this place on Route 356 just about every day and has been meaning to sketch it for just about as long. At first, he thought it was a poorly named pub, but then he noticed the pole and realised it was not Bar Ber, but a barber's. But hasn't been active since the beehive was superseded by the mullet by the looks of the decor.

Today, Our Man finally got round to committing the place to paper. He sat in a gravel car park across the road in his new fold-up chair and managed to complete the sketch and watercolours on scene. He spoke to an old lady who made polite noises about his efforts, and a rather brusque younger chap who as far as Our Man could tell wanted it made clear that the car park was his and although I could sit there it was at his pleasure not mine. In such circumstances, as in all of life, Our Man finds the best course of action is

a) Act first, seek permission later
b) When inevitably busted, plead ignorance
c) Use a deft mix of deference and self-deprecation to disarm
d) Carry on regardless.

Almost cut my hair. But instead, I let my freak flag fly.

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