Don't you just hate going for a haircut? I know I do! Let me tell you for why.
When you walk into the salon, you immediately get the awful stink of hair spray. Yes I know it's what you'd expect, but they could buy an air freshener or two! You sit down and wait for your turn, and decide to browse the pile of magazines they have for you. They're all years old! They contain articles such as "Grooming your dinosaur" and "The wheel. Set to revolutionise the world?"
Next it comes to your turn, so you go and park your arse in the chair. The barber then covers you in this wet sheet, thus making your clothes all wet. Next he starts cutting your hair, and bores you to death with the most inane conversation about sporting events past and present. So you reply "Hmmm, yeah. I suppose it was a good goal." Then you ask him something. Let's see. How about, "So what do you think Kenneth Clarke will do regarding the current E.R.M?" To which he replies, "Er, which team does he play for?" Doh!
When he's finally finished the job (which is never anything like what you asked for) he then pulls out a cut-throat razor and starts hacking away at your neck. Aaagh! Who is this man, Norman Bates? Finally he pulls the wet cloth off you in such a way, that all the hair on it falls all over your clothes. To finish off, he grabs a brush, and brushes all the hairs on the back of your neck down the inside of your shirt, and then he has the nerve to charge you for it!
Well that's my experience of the barber shop. (And yes Boswell, it's you!)