Haircut and love.

To Tristan's place this evening. He had asked me round to cut his hair... Sure, no problem, glad to.

As a barber I had expected to talk of holidays and something for the weekend and did you see that film called Tony ( fuck I've plugged it again) you know the one with the serial killer with the bonkers haircut and if you don't tip me proper I'll give you one of those.

But no. He wanted to talk about poetry and love and the best kind of . As if I would know.

Shit. I'm only the barber mate. what do I know.

'Jan.' He said. 'I hope you know not to run at me with those scissors'.

Ok. I said. I'll walk. That way I can be more accurate.

Anything for the weekend?