IT was high time the Happy Moonraker bought a new hairbrush. The old one had been shedding bristles at a rate of knots and was now looking decidedly uninviting. So I took myself to the obvious place to choose a new one: the local branch of a certain national chain of chemists’ shops.
After hunting for the right section, passing display after display of evil hair dyes, hair ornaments, and revolting chemical-filled shampoos and conditioners, I reached the hairbrushes.
Imagine my horror, though, when I witnessed a man old enough to know better as he removed a hairbrush from its packaging in front of me and actually brush his grey hair with it. I think my eyes must have nearly popped out of my head.
I turned to the woman behind him and said: “Well, I know which brush I shan’t be buying.” She said nothing but he said: “My hair’s clean. You can smell the Head & Shoulders if you want to.” He didn’t even buy the brush he’d used.
That just struck me as outrageous. It’s the sort of thing a bunch of rowdy teenagers might do on a Saturday afternoon.
I only wish I’d had the presence of mind to take a photo of him as he brushed his luxuriant locks. Or am I being unreasonably squeamish?