A rushed walk through Bristol and down the Christmas Steps gave me a burst of nostalgia and some happy moments admiring lettering on a barbershop. It didn’t get me to the shops before they closed but that’s another matter. I long to know who Angry Dave is, and why he’s so angry. Is an angry barber a good thing or is it just a little bit too Sweeny Todd?
If I saw a cutthroat razor in this establishment, I think I’d probably run screaming. Although I suppose it’s unlikely that I would be getting shave, being of the female persuasion. It’s probably frequented by the upper echelons of the Bristol mob, sporting leather jackets and lavishly pomaded hair, getting the smoothest of shaves from Harry Blade.
And no, I don’t know what pomade actually is. I’m not sure anyone does, it’s a mystery. But since I’m on gilded windows, let me share this one too, from a day mooching in Wantage when LTN was still needing chauffeuseing (made up word, does it work?). Cobbler. Snoblock. Marvellous. I got spotted snapping this, but twas definitely worth it.