A Brush With Abdul

In the morning I decided that I needed a haircut. I found a Middle Eastern barber shop amongst several others in the street. Five rather surly, attractive, young Middle Eastern men lounged on chairs outside, so I decided this was the one I would use. I was ushered inside by 'Abdul', a twenty-something man with big brown eyes one could drown in. He set about clipping my silvery shag into shape and tweaking my forelock.

Nice day?" he said. I agreed with a smile, meeting his camel-eyes in the mirror as his lightly calloused fingers delicately gripped my blushing pink ear and bent it forward to reach the unruly fronds beneath.

He then busied himself cutting and snipping until the job was all nicely finished, whereupon he again met my eyes in the mirror and asked, "You want gel now, mate?"

It took me a split-second to snap out of my reverie and realise that this was not quite the offer I had initially misunderstood.

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