With winter drawing to a close and parts of his face untouched by sunlight for several months, March seemed a good time for Kaja to brave the barber’s chair and get a wash, cut and traditional cut-throat shave, courtesy of Mr. Rizzo in Covent Garden.
I was fourteen years old the last time I visited my local barber. My hairdresser laughed at my grey hair, shouted at me for having a weak neck and, despite my request to look like Freddy Ljungberg, gave me a hairdo commonly sported by national hero Pat Butcher. Safe to say, I was fairly nervous about sitting in the hot seat after ten years living in blissful ignorance of chatty men with scissors.
When I arrived at the ultra-modern salon on Upper St. Martin’s Lane, the first thing that threw me was Mr Rizzo’s magazine collection. New editions of National Geographic and New Scientist lay in amongst glossy gossip columns and lads’ mags. There was no six-month-old copy of Home and Garden, this was the real deal. After a few minutes pretending to read a magazine, it was my time to shine. I put on my man bib and I was ready for grooming. Read more