I was pleased to discover a message in my Thunderbird folder this morning from a dear old friend (a Mr Trellis of North Epsom). He informs me, among many such interesting items, that his daughter is studying English at university and is partially financing this by working in a hairdressing establishment. (Keats and Cuts? Byron’s Bouffants? Our Mutual Fringe?)
Of course, this combination is nothing new, I always enjoy a debate about English prose or verse when I wend my way to the barber’s shop to have my coiffure attended to.
The last few visits have been entirely been taken up with the works of John Donne. We discussed the combination of religious and secular themes in his work, his use of metaphor, how he compared with, say, Ben Jonson, (pause for inevitable athletics joke). Indeed, on one occasion we spent such a long time discussing in what way the sun could be described as a “saucy pedantic wretch” that I had to wear a wig for two weeks afterwards. In the end we concluded that Donne was just a twat.
What do you discuss with your hair technician (no cruel quips about Dave having to have very short conversations (e.g. Great Norfolk Intellectuals) because he’s never in there for very long)?