Friday again, how fast they come round.

Mrs decreed this morning that I needed a haircut, so off I went dutifully to my barbers shop in Maryport, a chap called George Bell.
Old-fashioned barber shop, not the modern hairdressers style, reminiscent of my memories of how barbers shops were in my youthful days but without the ashtrays and smoke-laden atmosphere, just a sign saying "No Smoking"
One chair, one mirror, and the imitation leather benches on each side seating perhaps 10 men, lino on the floor, all of which haven't changed in 12 years that I know of and didn't look remotely new then. Don't know his age, possibly above recognised retirement, never speeds up or slows down, just a steady pace that seems entirely in keeping with the place.
Hugely popular with the local middle-aged population, and the younger boys for their short cropped all over styles, always a good crack as we say here, one of the few remaining male bastions (except for the occasional young mother presenting her usually protesting off-spring for a trim)

Long may it last.