The Barbear

In the small town of Steppe on the north eastern outskirts of Glasgow there was a small unisex barbers shop. Unisex you ask? Well the barber had a secret unfulfilled desire to create fantastic sculptures of style to adorn his female customers' bonnets. But, as a devout man, he felt that this was too prideful an occupation and therefore sinful.

He'd had a difficult childhood, his parents were very poor and struggled all their lives which had eventually led his father to drink and a great darkness of character. The barber had decided at a very young age to be an industrious and abstinent man who followed God's path and helped those around him.

He worked very hard and was always polite and friendly to his customers. He even donated all the clippings to a small independent wig makers (wig making standards had been on the decline since some of the larger corporate carpet makers had began making synthetic hairpieces using industrial off-cuts) who helped those who were in need of a hairy head coverage. Once a week the barber cut hair at the prison, he was paid for this work, but it was but a pittance - he took the job dually as penance for what he felt were the realities of his darker edge, the sin of having a third digestive biscuit on his morning tea break, or forgetting to hold the door for someone entering behind him. I'm not sure many would truly count these on the grand scale of sinful behaviour, but as I have mentioned, he was a very devout man. The second reason he cut hair at Barlinnie prison was so that he would be reminded of where an unrepentant lifestyle could lead you on earth and we all know where they will go after.

It was after one of these penance trips to the penitentiary that he was driving home, happily listening to The Carpenters and singing along when some black ice made him lose control of Morris Minor. The car slid and unable to regain traction he went off the road into a shallow ditch. As part of his usual routine he had collected all the hair from the prisoners into a plastic bin liner (which he would later recycle) and was going to drop it off at Willaby's Wonderful Wigshop. The accident had sent the bin bag up in to the air, it had caught on the Minor's notoriously sharp car door coat hook and exploded covering the whole inside of the car in millions of multicoloured criminal clippings. Coughing and spluttering hair balls he called the RAC and had them tow his car dropping him home in the process.

After such a long and traumatic day the barber decided he was going to have a long soak in the tub, a cup of hot cocoa and retire earlier than usual and read some chapters of 'Marley and Me' (he liked dogs). It was during his ritualised cleansing experience (the barber could make even the most mundane of tasks holy) he noticed a long very ginger hair protruding from his forearm. Unusual, he thought, more so as the barber himself had raven dark hair. He picked up some tweesers and tried to pluck it, but the red hair was resilient and after several minutes of painful tugging the barber decided to leave it the strange mystery being forgotten as he opened the chapter where Marley's boisterousness has got him an appearance in a film.

Once a fortnight the barber volunteered at a local orphanage, well not so local he drove an hour and forty-five minutes to get there but he didn't mind, the barber liked driving. He enjoyed the company of children, seeing them happy (possibly because he had never been so when he was young) but had never been lucky enough to meet the right woman and have his own. This was a way he could be involved in shaping some children's lives, helping his community (the barber believed in community spirit) and giving some young folk fine conventional haircuts, for what child isn't happy with a smart haircut.

"Smart in hair, smart in here." He would jest while tapping his forehead.

There was one particular young girl that he favoured. She was polite but had such sad eyes. He would love to have adopted her and brought some joy to her life but a single man in his situation he knew would not be a suitable candidate for fostering or adoption. When it was the young lady's turn in his chair he greeted her and gave her his customary pat on the head. She quickly said hello without a spark of happiness in her pretty hazel eyes.