Camden Barnet

At my Camden barber's, where a non-designer dry cut costs £8.00 and coffee means hospitality, not the hope of reward. It's more like a bric-a-brac shop, with ornaments betraying their dusty heritage. Hair-wigs hang like scalps from the ceiling; and snaps of Nicosia and Blackpool rub shoulders with photos of now-famous actors, presenters and pop stars, taken when fame was a lowly wish. On the wall above, an interesting collection of cut-throat razors, which I hope will not be needed.

The owner, Mustafa, is off today, as is the usual chat about Northern Cyprus, politics and British perfidy, interspersed with gardening tips. I sit in silence, listening to Turkish TV, as my Barnet falls victim to the scissors' snip.

For those unused to Cockney rhyming slang, 'Barnet Fair' means 'hair'. Barnet Horse Fair has been going since 1588 apparently, which makes me wonder how long my greying crop will last.

A haircut is a kind of little death, I feel, which makes me miss Mustafa's tales of atrocities even more. It's a reminder we're losing hair in the places we need it, and gaining some in the parts we don't. I miss Mustafa, for all his rants and reaction. I don't need a haircut really - and at the rate Mustafa's stand-in is snipping, might never do so again.

Like many refugees from reality, I only came in for a chat.



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We're all Foodies now

It's getting harder to find a non-PC pub, where regulars still smoke, spit, swear and generally insult the human race. I was in a South Devon quayside den last night, listening to the traditional cursing and coarseness from the bar, well into a pint of Dartmoor Best and Messi's magic on the box. What were they arguing about? How best to grill sea bass! A crew of trawlermen debating the merits of mackerel oil and which balsamic vinegar is best to pickle fresh-caught scallops. I staggered off to a real old dive where old salts are as quick to knock back their tankards as to cast doubt on your mother's virtue. The way was was blocked by a Newfoundland sea-dog slurping a pail of Guinness. As I edged past, what did I hear? Two grizzled old pirates debating the merits of braising pork with walnuts!

The kitchen has become the new bedroom, by all accounts.