haircutting is a strange experience in london...having cut his hair twrice in this foriegn land, all of varying prices and locations, it has never failed to be an affair of the strangest experiences...
the weather was absolutely fantastic today...he trodded out of his block in the morning and the blazing sun blasted him off his feet... figuratively, yes. It felt almost like a typical sunny autumn day, curiously set dead in the middle of winter, viciously confusing the scampering-and-never-punctual-for-work singaporean as he begins his wednesday...
"hmm hmm hmm..." as he softlty hums an obscure tune while he feels the gentle warmth of the sun rubbing off the back of his neck.
he discreetly smiles and for that moment in time, the world follows suit... hence his sudden mood to head for the hairstylist was substantiated, pretty much acredited to the day's brilliant skies and warmth...
the very
first time, the recollection, was that of finding a cheap barbershop that was in the vicinity of his pad. It was a brief 5 mins away and it was the most typical of English barbers, one that was reminiscent of worn leather seats, rimmed with discoloured silver and smelling of Old Spice colonge... it was more of a '
feeling' that drew him there...
the other, and significantly pricier, salon that he patronised was
Triko, a really small and quaint establishment on the fringe of the Covent Garden area, where he works. Although he didn't quite understand the japanese conversations bouncing off the walls between the stylists, it was nevertheless quite a relaxing change to be conversing with Kei, his hairdresser, about things outside architecture.
Just simply, about life.today, in a macro way, not that different.
Like every other day, he would head towards a small street branching off The Seven Dials, to a small flavorsome cafe...
The Monmouth Coffee Company, often ordering his daily dose of a simple latte. along the way he would also stroll through a small cobblestone path into a cheery little courtyard space, where the aromatic smells from the French bakery and olive scents of the neighbouring Italian restaurant whiffs into his senses, almost just tasting it on the tip of his tongue.
In the corner was
Hair by Fairy, the third salon in the installment of this very entry.
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i walked past the salon at two, just shortly after lunch en-route to coffee, and so decided to check out the salon, feeling it might be good to shorten the hair to freshen up.
it was jam-packed with people...hence the decision was to head back to the office and call them up for an appointment, preferably just later in the afternoon. Fished around as fast as i could on
Yell, got the number down hastily and gave them a buzz, lowering my voice slightly as i was in the office.
"Good afternoon, could i make an appointment later in the day for a cut and wash, please?" so i went.
"I'm afraid we're fully booked for the rest of the day" the lady on the other end of the line casually replied,
"How about tomorrow at 3 instead?" she followed.
"yes, that sounds lovely... " and proceeded giving her my name and mobile number.
the next sentence hit me hard.
"so, Jeffrey, what kind of waxing would you like to do?" if you're wondering why, click here.
