Royal Times at Pall Mall Barbers

Royal Times at Pall Mall Barbers When you work in a barber’s shop, you realise just what has caught the imagination of the general public. For one thing, we have a veritable journalistic library in our waiting area, with a range of up-to-date newspapers and magazines, but of course we also get to chat with a large cross section of the general public (well a cross section of men). And the subject on everyone’s lips right now is of course the upcoming royal wedding. I would never say I was anti royalty, but nor am I a hardened, flag-waving, die hard fan.

I would put myself in the apathetic acceptance school of thought – in other words, the majority. But is it apathetic anymore? At first I felt mild interest at the news, but as more and more facts emerge about what the occasion will bring, I find myself progressively moved. In fact I’d say most, if not all, of the apathetic crowd have been moved, dare I say it – teased into excitement by the prospect of something positive and loving on the horizon. After all, bar the odd rescued Chilean miner, what has there been to cheer about in the media over the last few months? Certainly nothing on the front pages of the papers at least. We’ve had our cuts, complaints and delays and as the days get shorter and the weather progressively colder, what better news than an extravagant royal wedding to pull us out of the doldrums. I was only a year old when Charles and Diana got married, so it’s my first opportunity to experience these sorts of festivities. Of course we haven’t just heard positive views on the subject here at the shop – some clients have raised concerns about the cost of the wedding and who’s paying for it. 

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As a man looking to tie the knot in the near future, I know how expensive weddings can be, though hearing the kind of figures they’re talking about on the radio I think my wedding budget would cover about a tenth of the appetisers at Will and Kate’s reception, if that! Still, it’s days like these that make me head towards the royal palaces in my lunch break. After all, the location of Pall Mall Barbers means that we’ll be just round the corner from the ceremony on the day. So on leaving the shop, I pop into “Sandwich Express” next door and pick up a cappuccino to keep me warm on my wander. It’s a simple walk through Trafalgar Square, through Admiralty Arch, skirt St. James Park and then you’re standing in front of Westminster Abbey, the bookies' favourite for the wedding location. The memorial garden is currently displaying thousands of poppies attached to crosses in the grounds of the Abbey. It’s an extremely moving sight and one that I believe makes the prospect of a royal wedding all the more poignant. I still have plenty of time left in my break, so I decide to head back to St James’ Park and through the grounds to Buckingham Palace.

 I’ve heard in the media that the wedding reception might well take place here. It’s certainly not too shabby and I can say that from first hand experience, as I have in fact been a guest at Buckingham Palace! I swear – honest. I was fortunate enough to receive an invite to one of the Queen’s garden parties back in 2006. It might sound like I was one of a very few select people honoured with an invite, though in reality I must admit I was one in a massive crowd of suits, floral dresses and extravagant headwear. Still, I got to see good old Liz in her summer frock, walk the huge grounds of Buckingham Palace and sip tea from royal chinaware. Best of all of course, I got to walk out of the palace front gates, past all the gawping tourists, who I’m sure assumed I was a member of the royal entourage… facebook

well maybe not, but it was still fun to fantasise. But enough of this day dreaming – time I was heading back to see what else is on the pulse of the nation. Let’s face it – barber shops are at the fore front when it comes to hearing the country’s views.

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It’s 2am on Saturday morning as we stagger out of Ronnie Scott’s, Soho - though the surrounding atmosphere rivals that of its namesake in New York. Soho, London is a location that has taken on the persona of the people who frequent it and I don’t just mean the gay crowd, though they certainly enrich the borough. Soho is so much more than the stereotype of a few late licence gay bars and strip clubs. True - it has these in abundance - but it also has probably the best jazz clubs in the city and some of the tastiest restaurants, as well as some brilliant independent shops, bars and theatres.

We left Pall Mall Barbers on Friday evening after locking up and all decided to head out for a drink and a bite to eat to celebrate the beginning of the weekend. The West End had that brilliant buzz that you only get on a Friday night, where expectation is palpable and every vendor, busker and street performer is trying to capitalise on it. We decided to head for Soho. There are plenty of bars along Old Compton Street and the roads leading off it. To get to Soho from PMB is easy enough, though you have to be prepared to push your way through the heavy (touristy) crowds in Leicester Square and then China Town, before playing dodge-the-rickshaw on Shaftesbury Avenue, and entering the neighbourhood known as Soho, an area that opens up shop when the sun goes down. I don’t go to Soho frequently, so I wouldn’t say I have a regular bar. We tend to just roll up to one that looks crowded enough to have an atmosphere but not so crowded you get an elbow in the ear while you try and swig your drink.

Two drinks later and we all agreed on the need for a really good burger. So out we headed and made a beeline for Ed’s Diner. I know - I know it looks chintzy and touristy - but you can’t deny it makes a fabulous burger and what about the milkshakes! It’s definitely not the destination if you’re watching your figure; I’ve been known to polish off a burger, chilli fries, New York Cheesecake and two milkshakes in one sitting. On completion of a Big Bubba (bacon and cheese burger) and Banana and Peanut Butter milkshake, it seemed a waste to go home and allow the calories to take hold of our guts, so we decided to head to, in my opinion, the most prestigious and phenomenal music venue in all of central London - and I don’t mean the Royal Festival Hall - no, Ronnie Scott’s.

Ronnie Scott’s is a jazz club that opened in 1959, though it moved to its current location on Frith Street in 1965. It’s a low lit, low ceiling affair, created in the New York style which made jazz the famous music genre that it is today. If you’re a jazz musician you know you’re a contender if you’re on the Ronnie Scott’s bill. It’s a moody, no-nonsense venue - so much so that when it went through a massive refurbishment a few years ago, the Ronnie Scott’s faithful felt that, with the loss of its nicotine-stained ceilings and threadbare couches, it had become too clean and clinical. Thankfully the musical line-ups are as strong as they’ve ever been. The downside is the line-ups outside to get in. These days you normally have to book in advance (and at an astronomical fee at that). Fortunately for us we’re going to the late night slot and I know one of the musicians. When I say I know him, I know a friend of a friend of his, but it’s enough to get us in and a seat in the corner. You can tell a lot about a city from its live music scene. London is extensive, impressive and expensive. Still, as we sat there on Friday night - sorry Saturday morning - and listened to this up-and-coming, scarily young jazz quartet, I felt pretty damn lucky to live and work in this town. 

So it’s 2am and we’re standing in the cold wet Soho morning. What do we do now? Catch a night bus home, try and a hail an altogether rare cab? – nah, it’s breakfast time at Balans on Old Compton Street. Probably my favourite eatery in Soho, especially now after its recent refurbishment. It’s open on Friday/Saturday from 8am to 6am and it’s where breakfast is frequently eaten with a cheeky cocktail. If you’re heading there at 2am like we did, don’t expect a quiet slumbering affair: 2am is rush hour at Balans and if you’re a big crowd you might have to wait for a table, but it’s worth it – trust me.

If you’re a tourist and looking for a great last night to your holiday, head to Soho. If you’re the unfortunate office employee put in charge of the Christmas party, head to Soho. If you’re new to London and looking for the best night life, head to Soho. Just remember, the friendly lady on Old Compton Street with the feather boa and the strong jaw line and conspicuous Adam’s apple is… always happy to show you a good time. Have Fun!

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Pall Mall Barbers, West End London (Part 2)

The last customer has accepted some Matt Mudd product, smiled his appreciation as he is shown the back of his head with the use of the mirror, paid and headed out the door. A quick wipe down and sweep of the floor and the work for the day is done. Unfortunately the weather means I have to don multiple layers before heading into the already dark evening. I’m not going straight home however as I’m meeting my fiancée for a meal out. That’s the fun of London; you can spoil yourself with a meal out for no reason beyond the dubious statement that “you deserve it”. facebook PMB

I do however have some time to kill before our rendezvous so what better to do than stroll to Trafalgar Square? Ever since I moved to London in 1999 I’ve found myself drawn to Trafalgar Square like a moth to the flame. I don’t know whether it’s the central location, or its history and magnificence, that have made me such a regular visitor over the years. But when I stand there by the lion sculptures and look up at Lord Nelson, I always think about all those people in history who have walked past the columns and statues; all the nationalities, fashions and hairstyles that have graced this landmark. Sorry, getting a little philosophical here. So what do I know about Trafalgar Square? Well I do know that when the statue of Nelson was erected, people thought it had an uncanny resemblance to Napoleon and joked that he had finally succeeded in his ambition to rule over Britain. I also know that if you’re in the area and it’s raining, then dry and culturally fascinating destinations are the National Gallery and National Portrait Gallery, which are literally next to Pall Mall Barbers. They have a suggested donation but essentially you can look at some of the world’s best art for free, though it would be tight not to drop a couple of quid in the collection pot…

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 It’s a bit too late tonight for me to look at the exhibitions in the gallery so I’m heading west across the square, through Admiralty Arch, for St. James’ Park. It’s probably my favourite park in London. It’s not the biggest but it’s probably the prettiest, with its lake and fowl. One of my fondest memories of the summer gone is taking my lunch to eat in the park and seeing a group of female office workers mugged for their sandwiches by a marauding pelican. They were busy chatting away and were completely unaware of the waddling overgrown seagull heading their way until the last moment when it stretched its wings wide above them and then it was too late. The ladies scrambled away to the safety of Horse Guards’ Parade and the pelican very calmly tucked into their prêt a manger baguettes. At this time of the evening it’s hard to make out the birds on the water but they are being particularly vocal, which is strangely comforting.

 Horse Guards’ Parade is also now dark and fairly deserted, with the London Eye towering behind it, which tonight is lit in sapphire blue but I’m sure, come the London 2012 Olympic Games, the parade ground will match the Eye’s brilliance, as it hosts the Beach Volleyball. I doubt the volleyball competition has ever had such a magnificent setting. I’m sure Rich will be purchasing his tickets for the event and I’m sure it’ll be to admire the view… PMBwww.pallmallbarbers.com

 One area which is well lit with floodlights this evening is Big Ben, which can be seen towering in the corner of the park just behind the roofs of the Foreign Office. Here’s my next bit of trivia for all you tourists out there. Big Ben is actually the name of the bell inside the tower, not the tower itself. It’s in this direction that I’m heading now as I’ll be meeting my fiancée in ten minutes at Westminster Tube station. I always feel it’s a shame that Parliament Square has become such a monstrous roundabout. It’s so easy to miss the great statues around the square, including those of Winston Churchill and Nelson Mandela, both of which have captured their owners’ personae brilliantly. Now, as ever, it’s a case of dodge the cars, ignore the protesters and wonder how many tourists’ photos I’ve accidentally wandered into as I head through the Square to the tube station.

And now I must leave you, as my fiancée and I are heading south over the bridge to stroll along the South Bank. We don’t know where we’ll be eating; we’re spoilt for choice and what better pastime than to wander the streets of London. It’s good sometimes to spend an evening attempting to look at the West End with “fresh eyes”. This evening has been all about London’s majesty and history. Part three will see me head back into the heart of the West End and to the neighbourhood that never sleeps. It houses bars, pubs and even coffee shops that will happily serve you during the early hours of the morning – the one and only Soho, where flamboyance never takes it easy and puts its feet up! PALLMALLBARBERS facebook

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Pall Mall Barber’s Neighbourhood (Part 1)

Pall Mall Barber’s Neighbourhood (Part 1) facebook

It’s lunch time at PMB and we’re faced once again with what to do with ourselves. The dilemma is not born out of a dearth of options in WC2 so much as an abundance of choice.

Armed with my baguette, banana and frappe latte I head off up the street to Leicester Square. It’s a good location to head to on any day as it’s one of the main hubs of the West End but especially around now when the Christmas fair is in town. However today is not the best time to sit down there and watch the world go by, as in fact the world isn’t going by so much as congregating in the hope of catching a glimpse of Robert Downey Junior. It’s the film premiere of “Due Date” tonight and workmen are industriously erecting temporary staging, lights and barriers. But I don’t resent the hive of activities going on around me; it’s what you go to Leicester Square for - that and the half price ticket booth.

Which reminds me - I need to queue up for tickets. It’s been a while since I’ve been to the theatre, which is shocking when you think that not only does London have the largest number of theatres in the world but the vast majority of them are within easy walking distance from my place of employment, Pall Mall Barbers. I’m stumped again by choice. Which show do I want to see? It’s got to be “39 Steps” – it’s an award winning comedy that everyone’s raved about. I just can’t believe it’s taken me this long to buy a ticket. The show is at the Criterion Theatre which is based just down the road in Piccadilly Circus.

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Now if you think Leicester Square is bustling, then Piccadilly Circus will knock your socks off. I guess it’s our equivalent of Times Square in New York; lots of neon, tour buses, tourists and shops. It might not be the most cultured of London destinations but there’s no denying its excitement. Though I’ll be heading there tonight to see “39 Steps”, I decide to wander there now as it only takes two minutes to walk there and it’s a great location for shopping. I’m not looking for anything in particular but there’s the massive HMV, Waterstones, Gap and let’s not forget Lilywhites. Take a moment and you’ll realise I’ve just covered all your essential male shopping needs: DVDs, CDs, books, clothes and sports. I head into Lilywhites. The inside is similar to life on the outside; the traffic is immense but I’m quite happy to flow along at its pace as I wander along floor upon floor of sporting merchandise. The store stocks everything from football balls to rollerblade elbow guards. Personally I’m looking for a new set of golf clubs. Rich says I have an addiction problem to the sport and he’s probably right but it’s fun to browse nonetheless.

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After mentally working out how I could spend my entire month’s salary on golf clubs and novelty accessories, I feel the only safe option left to me is a quick exit from the store and a break from my travels for a cup of green tea, and where best to go for that than China Town. It’s just a matter of walking up Shaftesbury Avenue, past the countless theatres, and taking a right and you’re met by the red and gold arches of China Town. It’s like walking into a different world. You’re hit by a whole new feel from the rest of the West End. The sights, smells and noises change. Now I’m someone who loves his Chinese food and I’ve yet to try every restaurant in the neighbourhood. The task is near on impossible as there are so many of them to choose between. Remember though, the quality does vary massively between the restaurants. I pop into one at random, order my green tea and, while I’m at it, a side dish of spring rolls. What can I say? Despite my best intentions there are just too many foodie temptations and I must admit I’ve been known to have more than one lunch a day since I started working at Pall Mall Barbers.

It’s not long before I realise that my precious lunch hour is almost up. As I pay my bill and make a move I walk past an American couple and I hear her say, “So that dude on the huge pillar in Trafalgar Square - what did he do that was so great?” It makes me smile. If the shops and theatres don’t grab your interest, then the West End’s history sure as hell will. I now know what I’ll be doing on my next lunch break, but for now it’s back to the grindstone for me.

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The Times Paper!! - Write up on our Barber Shop!!

My week living like a womanAre men ready for a life of Spanx pants and serums? I tried it for a week to find out if the gain was worth the painToday is a big and uncomfortable day for men. “Shapewear” underclothing for chaps will appear, reproachfully, on the shelves we visit. Both M&S and Spanx, the S&M-sounding tummy-tightening phenomenon responsible for helping millions of women “firm up”, are releasing torturously tight and “sculpting” underwear for my sex.This was never something that was likely to pass the editors of Times 2 by. The release of such a remarkable series of male garments by the mainest of mainstream clothes-sellers reminded them that these kinds of products, standing on the border between Beauty and Discomfort, had been worn by women for years.There had, they reasoned, long been the corset and its successors, the girdle and pantyhose.


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Then, in 1991, the Wonderbra claimed to take breasts of all kinds and turn them into something completely else, essentially by squashing and lifting well beyond Nature’s capabilities. So why, in the age of equality, should men not also suffer for the sake of appearance? M&S, in this sense, offered men a taste of what many women had long endured.But the “enhancing” male underpants (surely more Lucifer than St Michael) represented only a fractional part of the everyday female experience of having to look good. Or feeling that you have to look good.

As I researched this article, it became clear that many of my female colleagues and friends did not regard the business of constant enhancement as optional. It might at times be fun — as in choosing a swish accessory, or trying flamboyant lipsticks — but looking your best was also seen as being essential. As being a serious business.A business, however, that (unfairly) only women had to endure and that chaps couldn’t comprehend. So what if some sober male columnist were to be, a woman for a week? Not Mel Gibsonning around with leg-wax in the preamble to having a miraculous insight into What Women Want, but trying as hard as possible to do the male equivalents of what many women do.This is by way of telling you that I was made to spend seven days doing things that are against my nature. But, of course, that’d be only a partial truth. Up until the age of about 3, most boys asked whether they want to be a mummy or a daddy when they’re older, apparently choose Mum. That’s how we start and then we have the femininity knocked out of us. At any good excuse, we plunge back into the scented, silky mystery of our mothers’ clothes drawers, or open potions and lotions and take a deep nasal draught. There is, however, also shame and, in our culture at least, weakness attached to such desire.Everything I did was at the suggestion of my women colleagues atThe Times.

I didn’t say that women took little salads back to their desks and then binged on chocolate come 4pm, I didn’t come up with the manicure on a Saturday morning, the underwear, the clothes swaps, the moisturiser, the pre-dinner costume change or the lunchtime exercise class. Write to them, not me.Several colleagues explained to me the confusing and complex rituals of skin-care and I wrote them down, hoping to create a chart, or body and face recipe, which would ensure that I did everything in the right order. Then, when I was completely confused, they reminded me that, though I didn’t have to, they would also add makeup on top of that list.This was before we chose what to wear, what to carry with what we chose to wear, what to eat, how to exercise, or any of the other myriad stratagems for self-optimisation. After just a few conversations I seriously doubted whether I could actually internalise the compulsion to look good and the information required to make it happen. But I tried, and this is what happened in my week as a woman.Monday I start off at the Pall Mall Barber Shop near the National Gallery, to be properly shaved in the old-fashioned and more time-consuming way. I do this to get an idea of what happens if you apply to male grooming the professionalism and care that goes into womThe owner, Richard, takes a brief look at me and decides that I need some more tips on skincare. “Men clog up the pores with moisturiser and look shiny,” he tells me, adding, “you look shiny.”So, it’s a preshave lotion to soften the skin, to open the pores (pores open, Sir!), soften the bristles, then an exfoliator, applied with a careful circular motion (not the wild dabs and frenzied rubbing that I prefer) and then the blade, changed every week. Afterwards the cold, damp towel, then a moisturiser, then to combat shine, a matte. facebook

(“You could do with a matte,” Richard says.) “The thing for men,” Richard adds sagely, as he hands me my jacket, “is to come in under the radar. Do the stuff, but not so anyone notices. With women the change is the thing. It needs to be seen. With men it needs to be done.”In the evening I begin on the creams in earnest, applying gunk according to the chart-created diagram in the office.First rub visage with cleansing wipes to take off the day’s grime. Time taken: two minutes. I know it can be done more quickly, but my face isn’t all elfin and small-featured. Second, splash on cold water (to open the pores — weren’t you listening?), 30 seconds. Third, apply something called rejuvenating serum, which will combat wrinkles somehow. I was told, yet the details begin to fade. Five minutes. Fourth, on with the moisturiser — a substance I think I understand. Three minutes.Fifth, eye cream for the vile rednesses, telltale baggy bits and lack of brightness. Again I can see the purpose here. If one part of me is ageing, it’s the bit round my eyes: bags below

Applying this one is a problem, because I keep getting it in the eyes, making my peepers look as red and rheumy as a 97-year-old drug addict. Or Keith Richards. Time: Five minutes.Then I look at the bottles and realise that, somehow, I have forgotten where the toner is supposed to go. In fact I have forgotten what the toner is for. Looking at the blurb on the package is of no use. Later I ask my wife and she informs me that toner is unnecessary, contradicting what I was told when I embarked on this voyage.

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Whoever was right we’ve now added the best part of 20 minutes to my bedtime ritual, which once used to consist of just going to bed.Someone told me that these moments can constitute a soothing ritual time for many women, away from family, phone and dispensable fornication. Who am I to disagree? But, at the moment, it feels like an imposition — a pharmaceutical conspiracy to take time away from late-night googling or sleeping.Tuesday Office day. Arguably the most important day of the week for appearance. I am trying hard to feel that people might judge me, consciously or unconsciously, on how I’m turned out. So, objective: look good, smart, vigorous and professional. Begin day with half-hour ablutions, adding yet more moisturiser, serum and eye-slap to last night’s efforts. Still confused about the toner.After my shower I apply body moisturiser to make my skin younger.

You spent a long time in there,” my wife says as I exit the bathroom. Didn’t I just? With the evening ritual, that’s nearly an hour added to my toilet.But the big thing today is clothes. Let us start with the underwear. I know Orson Welles wore a girdle all though filming Jane Eyre, so it’s not as though men have never had help. But what about the modern shapewear? What about knickers, in M&S’ euphemistic words, “designed with an internal support pouch to define and visibly enhance your shape and silhouette”? This, to be straightforward, is the shape and silhouette of one’s penis and testicles (not words likely to find their way into the catalogue). Yet, what IS the right “shape and silhouette”? I more easily see the point of pants with an extra tummy suppressor and a vest “which flattens and supports the torso [and] instantly gives a flattering, slimmer silhouette”. This is not something I can afford to sneer at. My worry is that the bulk has to be going somewhere. Squeezed in the middle, isn’t it just rippling up to my neck or down to my thighs? But it’s all for art, so on it goes.en’s appearance.



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