One of the many unique selling points of Pall Mall Barbers is its age. We have been cutting hair for a very, very long time - to be precise, 115 years (figuratively, not personally). It is something we’re tremendously proud of. The barber’s role has changed somewhat: back in the day, your humble hairdresser might also be responsible for pulling out the odd rotten tooth and in some cases even some basic surgery . The red and white pole was a literal description of the barber’s function – it was a pole that the bloodied rags would hang from to dry. Very traditional poles should even have a bowl which served as a drip tray.
Last week I considered wet shaves in the context of Britain and the world and came to the conclusion that shaving is a universal need for the grown man. Barbering, however, is a very British pastime and our long running history proves this.
Growing up I took for granted our historic stories, traditions and definitely our old buildings. All these were common and unsurprising. I grew up in Nottingham, surrounded by Robin Hood pubs, Friar Tuck Ale Houses as Maid Marion tea houses. All of them stood within a stone’s throw of the famous Nottingham Castle. Folklore and history intertwined was everyday commonplace.
It was an incident back during my school days that made me realise that we have something unique and special – our history. Walking into class at the start of term I met a new student, who had just moved to England from the US. As my new friend crossed the threshold he came to an abrupt stop and I crashed into the back of him. In an almost trance like state he took a step back and looked up just above the door frame. The building was exceedingly old and had the year of it’s build above the door. My friend murmured in disbelief that our study room – our prison of home work - was built not just before American Independence but before America had even been discovered by Columbus.
Years later I moved to Canada and there too I saw a lack of history. The country is full of wonderful people and they have an amazing lifestyle. In fact during the ice hockey play offs I often think how nice it would be to emigrate there. They do however lack their historical buildings. For them if there is a building over one hundred years old, it is something of such rarity it will always have a crowd of people outside taking photos. As friends of mine from Canada once asked when they were visiting the UK, “Why do people ever come to Toronto for a holiday? We’ve got nothing to see. It’s all here in London!”
Be warned: Paul, Mal and Barbara need a haircut…
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Sunday, 22 May 2011
Sunday, 15 May 2011
The Universality of Needing a Shave
Yesterday I was sitting in Richard’s office (the ceilings are so low in there you have the option of either sitting or crouching…) and we talked about how British it is to get a proper shave from a barber. At the time I was in complete agreement with Rich, but since then, after flicking through holiday snaps with my girlfriend of our time in Turkey last year, I’m afraid I have had to change my stance on the matter.
We were staying at a resort on the coast and were bombarded with everything you’d want or need whilst taking a week off work to relax and unwind. We had plenty of sun, sand, delicious food and of course we had a traditional Hammam. For those of you who don’t know what a Hammam is, it’s a traditional Turkish massage which involves a number of requirements; opening the pores in a steam room, a soapy lather worked into your entire body, an invigorating dousing of cold water and a massage from a man who’s primary requirement for the work seems to be copious amounts of body hair. I know this as the massage takes place in the steam room and so no-one present wears much… Don’t panic you do cover your modesty with a Turkish linen towel. I’d heartily recommend the experience to anyone who is taking their summer holiday in the country.
Despite the great Turkish food including the obligatory “Delights”, the ancient ruins and the Hammam I still felt like absorbing more Turkish culture. It was then that my girlfriend suggested I should get a traditional Turkish shave. Now this is why I don’t believe we can call a wet shave ‘British’. There are differences of course. Both the Brits and the Turks treat their clients with the utmost respect, as barbers worldwide I believe not only have a code of honour to those they put a lethal weapon to, but also to the rituals themselves. However in the UK you’ll often find a traditional wet shave in the smarter areas of town; the Turkish barbers will set up shop literally anywhere and often perform their service in the doorway of their shop so their clients can chat with his friends and take in the cool breeze blowing off the sea. It’s a wonderful sight to walk along the pier as we did and see a barber methodically shave a grizzled old Turk outside the shop whilst a street dog lies in the sun at his feet.
Given the opportunity to try out a Turkish shave I jumped at the chance. I’ll admit that the process and method is very much the same as in Britain but what you get instead is a friendly simple experience and yes – cut throat prices…. sorry. Of course the biggest and most dramatic difference is when, at the end of the shave, the barber confidently inserts “burning taper” up the nostrils, and in the case of old men their ears too, to burn away the hairs. It’s a bizarre experience and though it definitely doesn’t hurt it does leave the nostril feeling bizarrely exposed. One word of warning if you choose to get a wet shave whilst on your holiday - don’t leave it to the end of the trip like I did. If you’ve grown either a beard or substantial stubble during the holiday you’ll be left with pasty white cheeks and lips to contrast with the tan/sun across the rest of your face.
Having started out in this school of thought I keep coming up with other examples of non British shaving. Look at the opening scene of The Untouchables: the famous gangster from Chicago Al Capone is getting a wet shave whilst answer questions from a bunch of journalists. I’m sure it wouldn’t take me long to come up with other nationalities who’d claim to have shaving as part of their heritage and that’s for the simple fact that all men need to shave. For some blokes it might only be a shave every few weeks and for some if they’re like my friend James from school it is ideally twice a day (though James was quite freaky).
So I will end by saying that on the one hand I disagree with Rich that a traditional wet shave isn’t necessarily British. However I will agree with him that though we don’t have exclusive rights to it, it is nonetheless one of the most relaxing and luxurious ways you could spend an hour in the capital or indeed anywhere in the country. The British also bring a certain classiness to the whole affair. The Turkish create a relaxed everyman’s right to a good shave, whereas the British barber will make you feel like you’re the king for the day. So why not get yourself feeling smooth your highness?
Beware - Paul, Mal and Barbara are coming…
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We were staying at a resort on the coast and were bombarded with everything you’d want or need whilst taking a week off work to relax and unwind. We had plenty of sun, sand, delicious food and of course we had a traditional Hammam. For those of you who don’t know what a Hammam is, it’s a traditional Turkish massage which involves a number of requirements; opening the pores in a steam room, a soapy lather worked into your entire body, an invigorating dousing of cold water and a massage from a man who’s primary requirement for the work seems to be copious amounts of body hair. I know this as the massage takes place in the steam room and so no-one present wears much… Don’t panic you do cover your modesty with a Turkish linen towel. I’d heartily recommend the experience to anyone who is taking their summer holiday in the country.
Despite the great Turkish food including the obligatory “Delights”, the ancient ruins and the Hammam I still felt like absorbing more Turkish culture. It was then that my girlfriend suggested I should get a traditional Turkish shave. Now this is why I don’t believe we can call a wet shave ‘British’. There are differences of course. Both the Brits and the Turks treat their clients with the utmost respect, as barbers worldwide I believe not only have a code of honour to those they put a lethal weapon to, but also to the rituals themselves. However in the UK you’ll often find a traditional wet shave in the smarter areas of town; the Turkish barbers will set up shop literally anywhere and often perform their service in the doorway of their shop so their clients can chat with his friends and take in the cool breeze blowing off the sea. It’s a wonderful sight to walk along the pier as we did and see a barber methodically shave a grizzled old Turk outside the shop whilst a street dog lies in the sun at his feet.
Given the opportunity to try out a Turkish shave I jumped at the chance. I’ll admit that the process and method is very much the same as in Britain but what you get instead is a friendly simple experience and yes – cut throat prices…. sorry. Of course the biggest and most dramatic difference is when, at the end of the shave, the barber confidently inserts “burning taper” up the nostrils, and in the case of old men their ears too, to burn away the hairs. It’s a bizarre experience and though it definitely doesn’t hurt it does leave the nostril feeling bizarrely exposed. One word of warning if you choose to get a wet shave whilst on your holiday - don’t leave it to the end of the trip like I did. If you’ve grown either a beard or substantial stubble during the holiday you’ll be left with pasty white cheeks and lips to contrast with the tan/sun across the rest of your face.
Having started out in this school of thought I keep coming up with other examples of non British shaving. Look at the opening scene of The Untouchables: the famous gangster from Chicago Al Capone is getting a wet shave whilst answer questions from a bunch of journalists. I’m sure it wouldn’t take me long to come up with other nationalities who’d claim to have shaving as part of their heritage and that’s for the simple fact that all men need to shave. For some blokes it might only be a shave every few weeks and for some if they’re like my friend James from school it is ideally twice a day (though James was quite freaky).
So I will end by saying that on the one hand I disagree with Rich that a traditional wet shave isn’t necessarily British. However I will agree with him that though we don’t have exclusive rights to it, it is nonetheless one of the most relaxing and luxurious ways you could spend an hour in the capital or indeed anywhere in the country. The British also bring a certain classiness to the whole affair. The Turkish create a relaxed everyman’s right to a good shave, whereas the British barber will make you feel like you’re the king for the day. So why not get yourself feeling smooth your highness?
Beware - Paul, Mal and Barbara are coming…
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Saturday, 30 April 2011
Wedding Bliss or a Right Royal Misery?
I think it would irresponsible of me, as the writer of a weekly blog, not to talk about the biggest wedding this country has seen in thirty years. I apologise to those of you who’ve had it up to here (I indicate a level equal with my neck), but for me it was an interesting experience as I watched it with an open, unexcited mind.
In the days building up to the wedding I put out a facebook status, asking for alternative choices to watching the wedding. Friends responded quickly, encouraging me to join “Republican” parties or accusing me of being a party pooper and that I should celebrate our royal family. I wasn’t trying to make a political statement - I just figured that the wedding show wouldn’t present any surprises or plot twists and the main storyline would be lumbered with senseless and dull interviews with members of the public, fool enough to venture into central London in the hope of seeing the wedding party whiz passed them on their route to and from the Abbey. As no attractive alternatives were presented to me and the constant hype on the television did start to stir my curiosity I found myself getting up far too early on a bank holiday to tune in to the BBC coverage.
I decided to watch the wedding with my girlfriend and her parents. My girlfriend’s mum has been looking forward to the wedding day since the engagement was announced all those months ago. She had dived into the occasion with both feet, providing hats, a ‘royal’ fry up and smoked salmon canapés, all washed down with copious amounts of champagne. We might not have been there at the Abbey and then at Buckingham Palace, but we were at the next best place – the exclusive wedding party in Gidea Park, Essex!
Much to my surprise, I got quite into the whole event. I was particularly impressed by the maple trees in the Abbey and of course the bride (and her sister) looked absolutely stunning. It did hit me that despite her privileged upbringing, her life will never be the same again. She will never go on a tube, bus or a budget airline. That might sound like bliss for most, but I think being so cut off from what you are used to is pretty scary.
Funnily enough – the more I got into the wedding celebrations the more my mother-in-law was getting disappointed. Apparently the wedding was no where near as grand as Princess Diana and Prince Charles’ wedding day.
For me it was all good fun during the service, the balcony kisses and then finally the quick spin in the Aston Martin. But in all, over the course of yesterday, I must have seen the wedding at least four times, with replays and analysis that Match of the Day would be proud of. There’s only so many times I need to see them smile, wave and snog but now we have the added commentary from Sue in Buckleberry, hysterical from the whole spectacle, and important insights from Dave from Middleton in Rochdale on the dress and the flowers and not forgetting the toddlers, dressed as knights and princesses at street parties up and down the country, not yet able to speak, but interviewed nonetheless by the BBC’s intrepid field reporters.
On a more interesting note, did anyone else spot the runaway horse? Just for a second, as the couple journey down the Mall, there is clearly seen a panicked, rider-less horse cantering around like a participant in the Grand National. Apparently the horse had bucked its rider when spooked by the million screaming fans – I’m not surprised I imagine it’s a pretty intimidating sight! I just hope neither the horse nor the cavalryman will get in trouble. Though no doubt the horse will have forgotten the whole thing by now, I’m sure the soldier will never live down the day he was bucked from his horse during the Royal Wedding. Friday might have defined a young couples’ lives, but it also defined the life of one poor soldier.
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In the days building up to the wedding I put out a facebook status, asking for alternative choices to watching the wedding. Friends responded quickly, encouraging me to join “Republican” parties or accusing me of being a party pooper and that I should celebrate our royal family. I wasn’t trying to make a political statement - I just figured that the wedding show wouldn’t present any surprises or plot twists and the main storyline would be lumbered with senseless and dull interviews with members of the public, fool enough to venture into central London in the hope of seeing the wedding party whiz passed them on their route to and from the Abbey. As no attractive alternatives were presented to me and the constant hype on the television did start to stir my curiosity I found myself getting up far too early on a bank holiday to tune in to the BBC coverage.
I decided to watch the wedding with my girlfriend and her parents. My girlfriend’s mum has been looking forward to the wedding day since the engagement was announced all those months ago. She had dived into the occasion with both feet, providing hats, a ‘royal’ fry up and smoked salmon canapés, all washed down with copious amounts of champagne. We might not have been there at the Abbey and then at Buckingham Palace, but we were at the next best place – the exclusive wedding party in Gidea Park, Essex!
Much to my surprise, I got quite into the whole event. I was particularly impressed by the maple trees in the Abbey and of course the bride (and her sister) looked absolutely stunning. It did hit me that despite her privileged upbringing, her life will never be the same again. She will never go on a tube, bus or a budget airline. That might sound like bliss for most, but I think being so cut off from what you are used to is pretty scary.
Funnily enough – the more I got into the wedding celebrations the more my mother-in-law was getting disappointed. Apparently the wedding was no where near as grand as Princess Diana and Prince Charles’ wedding day.
For me it was all good fun during the service, the balcony kisses and then finally the quick spin in the Aston Martin. But in all, over the course of yesterday, I must have seen the wedding at least four times, with replays and analysis that Match of the Day would be proud of. There’s only so many times I need to see them smile, wave and snog but now we have the added commentary from Sue in Buckleberry, hysterical from the whole spectacle, and important insights from Dave from Middleton in Rochdale on the dress and the flowers and not forgetting the toddlers, dressed as knights and princesses at street parties up and down the country, not yet able to speak, but interviewed nonetheless by the BBC’s intrepid field reporters.
On a more interesting note, did anyone else spot the runaway horse? Just for a second, as the couple journey down the Mall, there is clearly seen a panicked, rider-less horse cantering around like a participant in the Grand National. Apparently the horse had bucked its rider when spooked by the million screaming fans – I’m not surprised I imagine it’s a pretty intimidating sight! I just hope neither the horse nor the cavalryman will get in trouble. Though no doubt the horse will have forgotten the whole thing by now, I’m sure the soldier will never live down the day he was bucked from his horse during the Royal Wedding. Friday might have defined a young couples’ lives, but it also defined the life of one poor soldier.
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Thursday, 21 April 2011
Olympic Dreams or Olympic Nightmares?
So everywhere you go now, there seems to be Olympic hype. Whether it’s billboards, radio, massive public screens or, if you work at Pall Mall Barbers, a massive clock counting down the seconds around the corner. I am of course referring to the Omega Olympic Clock in Trafalgar Square which famously froze last month. Don’t get me wrong, I’m excited about the games, though if this is the kind of bombardment we’re getting now in April 2011 what’s it going to be like in April 2012 let alone in June, July and August!
One of the things I love about the Olympics is that bizarre and obscure sports come to the forefront – especially if there’s a Brit in with a shout of a medal. You have a young British woman hoping for a silver or gold in Archery and you’ll probably hear the road workers talk about her strength at adjusting in high winds, but that her temperamental attitude doesn’t bode well in the long rounds. Let’s face it, growing up with Sir Steve Redgrave as an Olympic role model has meant every one aged between 15 and 50 seems to know all about a good catch, finish and drive for the line which are the essential elements for a champion rower. You put it like that and you make it sound so simple.
Of course it isn’t always the sport that makes us watch. I have been ridiculed for showing a more enthusiastic interest in cycling when Pendleton is competing and I’ll admit as a kid I had a bit of a crush on Denise Lewis… I know I’m not alone in this – watching the Sydney Olympics while at University my female flatmates seemed more interested in the Australian rowers’ tight tight Lycra than Big Steve’s historic 5th gold medal.
So with all these factors swirling round my head (well not the Australian lycra!) I went on the Olympic website yesterday to try and book some tickets for the once-in-a-lifetime show. Two hours later I logged off having not yet applied for any tickets at all! – Though the website is clear and easy to use, the strategies required would have a crack team of Napoleon, Rommel and Caesar dizzy with confusion! Having spoken with numerous people, I realise that everyone is attempting to ensure they receive their allotted tickets through all sorts of cross-betting, sweep-staking or safety first methodology. What makes matters worse is that the very events I want to go to are proving to be the most popular, namely; Track Cycling, Swimming and - who would believe it? - Beach Volley Ball. It’s times like this when I wish I had an obsession with the most obscure of sports like “long distance weight lifting” – but then that, for novelty sake, would probably be really popular. It’s crazy to think that having put my name forward for a potential £1,500 bill next month I might not get any tickets at all. The popular strategy - and this is only if you have the capital - is to buy £10,000 worth of tickets and then sell the ones you get that you don’t want on the ticket swap site. Call me bitter but that doesn’t sound particularly fair to me…
So – let me know what your choice event is at pallmallbarberslondon@gmail.com – personally if it’s got Pendleton partaking I’m there! Though that beach volleyball competition in Horse Guards’ Parade is supposedly full of extremely talented athletes as well!
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One of the things I love about the Olympics is that bizarre and obscure sports come to the forefront – especially if there’s a Brit in with a shout of a medal. You have a young British woman hoping for a silver or gold in Archery and you’ll probably hear the road workers talk about her strength at adjusting in high winds, but that her temperamental attitude doesn’t bode well in the long rounds. Let’s face it, growing up with Sir Steve Redgrave as an Olympic role model has meant every one aged between 15 and 50 seems to know all about a good catch, finish and drive for the line which are the essential elements for a champion rower. You put it like that and you make it sound so simple.
Of course it isn’t always the sport that makes us watch. I have been ridiculed for showing a more enthusiastic interest in cycling when Pendleton is competing and I’ll admit as a kid I had a bit of a crush on Denise Lewis… I know I’m not alone in this – watching the Sydney Olympics while at University my female flatmates seemed more interested in the Australian rowers’ tight tight Lycra than Big Steve’s historic 5th gold medal.
So with all these factors swirling round my head (well not the Australian lycra!) I went on the Olympic website yesterday to try and book some tickets for the once-in-a-lifetime show. Two hours later I logged off having not yet applied for any tickets at all! – Though the website is clear and easy to use, the strategies required would have a crack team of Napoleon, Rommel and Caesar dizzy with confusion! Having spoken with numerous people, I realise that everyone is attempting to ensure they receive their allotted tickets through all sorts of cross-betting, sweep-staking or safety first methodology. What makes matters worse is that the very events I want to go to are proving to be the most popular, namely; Track Cycling, Swimming and - who would believe it? - Beach Volley Ball. It’s times like this when I wish I had an obsession with the most obscure of sports like “long distance weight lifting” – but then that, for novelty sake, would probably be really popular. It’s crazy to think that having put my name forward for a potential £1,500 bill next month I might not get any tickets at all. The popular strategy - and this is only if you have the capital - is to buy £10,000 worth of tickets and then sell the ones you get that you don’t want on the ticket swap site. Call me bitter but that doesn’t sound particularly fair to me…
So – let me know what your choice event is at pallmallbarberslondon@gmail.com – personally if it’s got Pendleton partaking I’m there! Though that beach volleyball competition in Horse Guards’ Parade is supposedly full of extremely talented athletes as well!
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Sunday, 17 April 2011
What Do Men Really Want?
Ok, so this title can be misread quite easily, or I’ve just put out there a very leading question. I apologise to all of you who read this article hoping for something a little juicy and come away disappointed. The reason I’m writing this article is because I went to a party last week and fell in love with the apartment it was being held in. It is everything a bachelor pad should be, including the lift opening up into the living room (it was a penthouse apartment). Maybe it’s a novelty thing which would wear off after the first couple of weeks, or maybe it’s genius. I’m not sure, because as I inferred last week, maybe what men find shiny and exciting one week quickly dulls in the light of the new latest must have.
The apartment in question had floor to ceiling shelves of Box Sets. I know, I had you at Box Set and interspersed between these viewing gems were iconic cinema graphic memorabilia – essentially geeky tributes to everything from Predator to The Godfather. Writing this I’m thinking this place was more of a dreamland for a Geek than a Lad, but as the Geeks are chic let’s go with it.
Now don’t get me wrong, I love where I live – it’s the nicest place I’ve lived in, in my adult life, but there was something so wonderfully uncompromisingly ‘toilet seat up’ male about this apartment it felt like a second home even though I had never been there before. Maybe it was because on every shelf in the living room I saw an old friend, “Hello The Wire seasons 1 through to 5” and “how’s it been The Sopranos, Smallville, Doctor Who and of course Friends”? Some of you might not see this as a male pursuit and I’m sure it’s not entirely, but in my personal experience – only men hoard DVDs, especially box sets.
When I was a recent graduate with only £11,000 debt in my back pocket and a somewhat useless humanities degree scroll in my hand, I decided to emigrate to Canada. They told me in no uncertain terms to come back in 2 years. So for the next couple of years I only bought things I thought I could easily transport 3,000 miles – namely DVDs. That was my genuine excuse. To this day the only piece of furniture I actually own is a small IKEA book shelf I keep my graphic novels on - oh and a couple of old degree books about some Prussian called Clausewitz. No guessing as to which I have read from cover to cover…
So of course I, like the man who owns a penthouse apartment, have lots of box sets, but mine are relegated to stacks in the spare room – out of sight out of mind approach. I’m not bitter – of course not, it is part of the understanding of co-habiting, but it is something the man who owns the penthouse doesn’t have to worry about. For him every title is blissfully on display in alphabetical order.
If you think I’m being a little nutty, let me refer you to one of my DVD favourites – “High Fidelity” starring John Cusack and Jack Black in what is, in my opinion, his best film role to date. Apparently it’s also a book… It’s about some seriously geeky music lovers. My favourite scene is when Cusack rearranges his vinyl collection so that it marries with his life experiences. The look of it on his shelves is in perfect harmony with his identity but to any one else would seem like a bizarre mass of musical confusion.
If I was an anthropological expert I’d properly be able to explain man’s need to hoard and display his trophies. I might be able to enlighten you with comparisons between the modern man and his primate relative and his love of strangely shaped stone collections, but I can’t, though I’m sure there are such comparisons.
In writing this I have come to a decision. When I have in my possession the fortune I hope to make one day, whether that be from my creative work, a winning lottery ticket, or my personal favourite – a Goonies adventure – I plan to own a house in which I will create a top floor serviced by an elevator that opens out into my sanctuary of manhood, my oasis of geek, my…. Ok the top floor is basically a home cinema!
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The apartment in question had floor to ceiling shelves of Box Sets. I know, I had you at Box Set and interspersed between these viewing gems were iconic cinema graphic memorabilia – essentially geeky tributes to everything from Predator to The Godfather. Writing this I’m thinking this place was more of a dreamland for a Geek than a Lad, but as the Geeks are chic let’s go with it.
Now don’t get me wrong, I love where I live – it’s the nicest place I’ve lived in, in my adult life, but there was something so wonderfully uncompromisingly ‘toilet seat up’ male about this apartment it felt like a second home even though I had never been there before. Maybe it was because on every shelf in the living room I saw an old friend, “Hello The Wire seasons 1 through to 5” and “how’s it been The Sopranos, Smallville, Doctor Who and of course Friends”? Some of you might not see this as a male pursuit and I’m sure it’s not entirely, but in my personal experience – only men hoard DVDs, especially box sets.
When I was a recent graduate with only £11,000 debt in my back pocket and a somewhat useless humanities degree scroll in my hand, I decided to emigrate to Canada. They told me in no uncertain terms to come back in 2 years. So for the next couple of years I only bought things I thought I could easily transport 3,000 miles – namely DVDs. That was my genuine excuse. To this day the only piece of furniture I actually own is a small IKEA book shelf I keep my graphic novels on - oh and a couple of old degree books about some Prussian called Clausewitz. No guessing as to which I have read from cover to cover…
So of course I, like the man who owns a penthouse apartment, have lots of box sets, but mine are relegated to stacks in the spare room – out of sight out of mind approach. I’m not bitter – of course not, it is part of the understanding of co-habiting, but it is something the man who owns the penthouse doesn’t have to worry about. For him every title is blissfully on display in alphabetical order.
If you think I’m being a little nutty, let me refer you to one of my DVD favourites – “High Fidelity” starring John Cusack and Jack Black in what is, in my opinion, his best film role to date. Apparently it’s also a book… It’s about some seriously geeky music lovers. My favourite scene is when Cusack rearranges his vinyl collection so that it marries with his life experiences. The look of it on his shelves is in perfect harmony with his identity but to any one else would seem like a bizarre mass of musical confusion.
If I was an anthropological expert I’d properly be able to explain man’s need to hoard and display his trophies. I might be able to enlighten you with comparisons between the modern man and his primate relative and his love of strangely shaped stone collections, but I can’t, though I’m sure there are such comparisons.
In writing this I have come to a decision. When I have in my possession the fortune I hope to make one day, whether that be from my creative work, a winning lottery ticket, or my personal favourite – a Goonies adventure – I plan to own a house in which I will create a top floor serviced by an elevator that opens out into my sanctuary of manhood, my oasis of geek, my…. Ok the top floor is basically a home cinema!
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Sunday, 10 April 2011
Must Have Toys
Sitting in the cupboard under the stairs at home is a set of golf clubs I was given as a gift at Christmas. I love those clubs, though I’ve only played with them half a dozen times. In one of my cupboard drawers (though I’m not entirely sure which one) is a digital camera and let’s not forget the games systems plural, various other lads’ gadgets and generally metallic-looking gizmos. In short, I like buying and receiving cool- looking stuff though it often turns into dust-collecting junk, but am I unique in this trend? I’d say, hell no!
Women often get a bad rep for their indulgence in purchasing enough footwear to accommodate a sizeable army, but what about men and their need for gadgets? Don’t get me wrong, I’m not saying we shouldn’t be getting them, just to pause for a moment before we preach to others over their outlandish buying.
My latest impulse boys’ buy was a Nintendo Wii. It’s great fun and my excuse is that over £100 of the cost was covered by a mass of nectar points. It was certainly a better spending choice than the ill-fated road bike purchase of 2005…
Six years ago I ran the marathon (yes – once upon a time I was fit and healthy and even boasted a six pack). Having completed the arduous course in a very respectable time, I looked for a new challenge and someone suggested I complete a triathlon. I thought, why not? I’m not a great swimmer but I can get some coaching, the run will be a breeze, it is after all only 10km. The glitch was the cycling. I can ride a bike but the last time I did I was 11 and it was a BMX Burner.
Now most people on attempting their very first triathlon purchase/borrow a standard mountain bike, but oh no, not me! I headed off to a specialist triathlon shop and got myself, at quite considerable expense, a sleek, bespoke road bike. I remember it was silver. I honestly cringe, thinking back to my moment of madness. I got the bike home and was desperate to try it out, only to be horrified on finding I could barely keep it upright. It was like that scene in “Herbie Goes Bananas” where the baddy gets the loveable car drunk on Irish Coffee. Clearly some villain had intoxicated my shiny new road bike, because for the life of me I couldn’t get it to go in a straight line. In total I think I rode that expensive death trap 5 terrifying times around London until I found a much better use for it as a clothes’ horse in my bedroom. It served its function extremely well until the ill-fated night when we were burgled and the bike was whisked away. Not a day goes by when I don’t miss that clothes’ horse and I can only hope that wherever it is now it is happy.
I should point out that not all such purchases are foolish. In fact some of my treasured possessions could be categorised as lads’ gadgets. When I was 15 I had just started shaving and for my birthday my parents bought me a beautiful shaving set. It was cream and silver with mother of pearl finish. It was an incredibly beautiful classic set and I still remember the classy royal blue box packaging it came in; the feel of the tissue paper used to wrap each part of the set. I still have the shaving set 15 years on and I even use it on special occasions.
My philosophy is to have fun buying your gadgets and toys. Let’s face it, we work hard enough, we might as well enjoy our just rewards. But be prepared that not all you buy will last the test of time.
Have fun this weekend in the sun – maybe I should buy a boat for the summer…
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Women often get a bad rep for their indulgence in purchasing enough footwear to accommodate a sizeable army, but what about men and their need for gadgets? Don’t get me wrong, I’m not saying we shouldn’t be getting them, just to pause for a moment before we preach to others over their outlandish buying.
My latest impulse boys’ buy was a Nintendo Wii. It’s great fun and my excuse is that over £100 of the cost was covered by a mass of nectar points. It was certainly a better spending choice than the ill-fated road bike purchase of 2005…
Six years ago I ran the marathon (yes – once upon a time I was fit and healthy and even boasted a six pack). Having completed the arduous course in a very respectable time, I looked for a new challenge and someone suggested I complete a triathlon. I thought, why not? I’m not a great swimmer but I can get some coaching, the run will be a breeze, it is after all only 10km. The glitch was the cycling. I can ride a bike but the last time I did I was 11 and it was a BMX Burner.
Now most people on attempting their very first triathlon purchase/borrow a standard mountain bike, but oh no, not me! I headed off to a specialist triathlon shop and got myself, at quite considerable expense, a sleek, bespoke road bike. I remember it was silver. I honestly cringe, thinking back to my moment of madness. I got the bike home and was desperate to try it out, only to be horrified on finding I could barely keep it upright. It was like that scene in “Herbie Goes Bananas” where the baddy gets the loveable car drunk on Irish Coffee. Clearly some villain had intoxicated my shiny new road bike, because for the life of me I couldn’t get it to go in a straight line. In total I think I rode that expensive death trap 5 terrifying times around London until I found a much better use for it as a clothes’ horse in my bedroom. It served its function extremely well until the ill-fated night when we were burgled and the bike was whisked away. Not a day goes by when I don’t miss that clothes’ horse and I can only hope that wherever it is now it is happy.
I should point out that not all such purchases are foolish. In fact some of my treasured possessions could be categorised as lads’ gadgets. When I was 15 I had just started shaving and for my birthday my parents bought me a beautiful shaving set. It was cream and silver with mother of pearl finish. It was an incredibly beautiful classic set and I still remember the classy royal blue box packaging it came in; the feel of the tissue paper used to wrap each part of the set. I still have the shaving set 15 years on and I even use it on special occasions.
My philosophy is to have fun buying your gadgets and toys. Let’s face it, we work hard enough, we might as well enjoy our just rewards. But be prepared that not all you buy will last the test of time.
Have fun this weekend in the sun – maybe I should buy a boat for the summer…
Shaving London, Shave London, Wet Shaving London, Barbers in London, Barbers London, Barber shave London, Barbers W1, Barbers Mayfair, Barber Mayfair, Barber WC1, Barber shop Mayfair, Mens Hairdressers Mayfair, Mens hairdressing Mayfair, SW1, SW2, EC1, EC2 Soho, Convent Garden, St James, Pall Mall, London, Mens hairdressing London, Shaving London, Shave London, Barber shop, London Barbers, Shave, Barber shave, London Barber shop, Shave product London, Shaving Gifts, Shave gift, shave gift vouchers, wet shave gift vouches, mens shave, Mens shaving, shaving London, wet shaving, W1, WC1, WC2, SW1,SW2,SW6.SW6, safety razor, safety razors uk, safety razors for men, safety razors for beginners, double edged razor, double edged razor technique, shaving gifts, shaving gifts for men, shaving gifts London, shaving gifts online, shaving gifts him, shaving gift sets for men, shaving gift sets, shaving sets, shaving sets for men, shaving sets for men with brushes, shaving sets for sale, shaving sets with brush, shaving sets with mugs, shaving sets with safety razor, shaving sets with bowl, shaving sets with soaps, shaving sets uk, badger brush, badger brush shave, badger brush shaving sets, badger brush shaving kits, badger brush shaving soap, shaving brush, shaving brush stand, shaving brush set, straight razor, straight razor uk, straight razor shaving, cut throat razor, cut throat razor shave, cut throat razors for sale, cut throat, cut throat shave, cut throat shave London, gifts for men, gifts for men uk, gifts for men ideas, gifts for men who have everything, gifts for men who have everything uk, mens gifts, mens gift ideas,
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