Yussef the Barber, and the young man playing the lute
Once, Richard saw that one of the young men in Yussefs had put down his scissors - he was playing the lute to his girl in Lebanon - he had his mobile propped up on the chair - she would hear the music on her phone -
I thought of the music, pure and aching, flying across the ether - from this louche chill street to a courtyard under a burning sky - of their love and desire for one another like swallows, swooping down from the clouds -
My friend Richard has hair that is still dark, whereas my rug is a startling white - I reel when I see myself in a mirror - I'd thought of buying some Portillo trousers recently - pale red trousers, as worn by the thawed Thatcherite, on his jaunt across Europe with a 1913 Bradshaw -
The changing cubicle was, inevitably, stiflingly hot and brilliantly lit - Anne said that the trousers were too baggy "at the top" - I caught a glimpse of myself in a cruel full length mirror - who was this man with wild white hair, trying on oldster's trousers? - was it me?
Richard, clearly, has none of these rug related anxieties - he goes to Yussef the Barber to get his hair cut - once, says, Richard, there was only one barber in Albert Road - Melmont Hairdressers - now there are many establishments - all of them with two or three chairs, steamed up front windows, copies of The Sun, the latest Koi Karp magazine and a take out menu for The Akash -
Once, Richard saw that one of the young men in Yussefs had put down his scissors - he was playing the lute to his girl in Lebanon - he had his mobile propped up on the chair - she would hear the music on her phone -
I thought of the music, pure and aching, flying across the ether - from this louche chill street to a courtyard under a burning sky - of their love and desire for one another like swallows, swooping down from the clouds -
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