Open Writing

There's a certain hairdresser’s shop window in town which I always have difficulty in passing. Observing the row of male chins pointing skywards like nuclear warheads while their locks are being fed and watered in the basin behind can be riveting entertainment. I am almost as hypnotised by their reflections as the exquisitely groomed staff are by their own.

I count myself really fortunate if a completed coiffeur comes out while I am there. These chaps – all tongued-and-grooved leaving a trail of aftershave smouldering behind – certainly present a different picture to the one I remember when I used to drag our son to the barbers. ‘How do you want it?’ customers were asked. Whatever they replied, the resulting short back and sides all looked the same anyway.

Whether it’s because they have to stand alone such a lot in discos – no hiding behind partner in today’s style of dancing – men can beat some of the women at grooming. However grotesque they look, twitching and jerking to the noise, at least their hair stays put. Perhaps one day they won’t even bother asking us to dance – as soon as the music starts they will be out on the floor with the spotlight glinting madly on their rinses.

Even Alf Roberts the coy councillor in Coronation Street had a crimp for his wedding to Rene Bradshaw. What first attracts us to the opposite sex? Is it physical, hair, clothes, or does the magnetism come from within?

Footballer Brian Wilson’s girlfriend, Anne Nolan, the singer, confessed she was attracted by his Geordie accent. ‘The way you do my hair,’ could be Lulu’s theme song, since she fell for her hairdresser. My daughters prefer good conversationalists, judging by the phone bills. Middle daughter says her boyfriend has one endearing quality she can never resist, ‘He likes me.’

Our youngest girl, aged nine, still thinks there is nothing to compare with two penny blackjacks.

I once asked my spouse what scintillating factor drew him to my side, but he deliberated so long we both fell asleep. When I ask ‘Why did you marry me?’ which I am inclined to do if I think he owes me a favour, it’s always the same response: ‘Felt sorry for your father.’

‘Looks aren’t everything,’ my mother was fond of repeating, when we both noticed my nose was spreading non-stop and I’d have to give up laughing in company. Judging by the hairstyles advertised in magazines today – she was right. According to them the way to bewitch your man is to plait hair from top to bottom, then comb and fluff it up till it resembles steel wool. I’ve seen healthier looking hair on dead cats.

I watched a school production recently. ‘Those two are sweethearts in real life,’ whispered my daughter. As the pretty-faced teenager burst into what could never be described as song, we realised he could not have been attracted by her voice. ‘There’s a place for us’ she droned, while we all secretly agreed.

According to my parent’s description, their first meeting must have been the main attraction in Huddersfield that week. ‘He was wearing his father’s trousers and his brother’s jacket,’ remembers my mother scornfully. ‘She was the only one with a coat down to her feet,’ laughs my dad. It must have been love at first sight – and what a sight!