OK. We needed cuts and, well, we pass this place every day on the way to work. Needless to say, it was horrible. It was like visiting a prostitute: no talking and you could sense her resentment. There was no music. In fact, no other people were in there either. I entered the place, the door made an extraordinarily loud SLAM and I said "hello." The Slavic stylist, let's call her "Vlad the Impaler," didn't look up or anything. I debated walking out but thought, "it's only £11.95!" So she points to the chair and drapes the cape over me, and asks: WHAT NUMBER? This is when I started to really worry. I tried to say "NO! NO! I want just a trim! Nothing much!" But then she took over and, actually when all was said and done it looked pretty good. Here are some photos of other cuts we've seen in London which I feared I'd end up with.
