snip snip

On Saturday morning, having put it off for as long as possible, I submitted to necessity and went to get my hair cut - a long way from being one of my favourite chores, not least because of the seemingly compulsory chit-chat one is compelled to partake in. 

On this occasion, there could only really be one subject for discussion. 

"What did you, er, what did you make of Michael Jackson dying, then?", I was asked. 

"I felt a bit sad", I replied. "but mainly just cos it seemed like he was living a pretty lonely, unsatisfactory life".

The barber nodded. "Yep", he said. "Still, what's got to be considered is, he was a paedophile". 

I made a sort of non-commital noise. Child abuse, like football, is traditionally one of the subjects I try to avoid discussing when having my hair cut.

"Yep" his colleague agreed. "All them kids". 

They shook their heads. 

I sat in silence, leaving them to their conversation while my barber snip-snipped around my ears. Occasionally the two of them would cease their work, and their conversation, to stare at the skimpily dressed teenaged girls, most of whom were perhaps 15,16, as they walked past the barbers and down into town.

I elected not to point out the irony.