Mick Hartley

The corner shop at the end of our road has been unused for years, ever since we've been here, with the old tailor's dummies inside barely visible through the dusty window and old lace curtains. Then suddenly last month – activity! The place was cleaned out, spruced up. What kind of establishment was going to open up? The neighbourhood held its breath. We could use a baker since the one across the road closed down a couple of years back. Or a small cafe maybe. There are a few around now, but the more the merrier.

But no. It opened a couple of weeks ago as….a barber's shop. Which is fine, except, in the next block down, within 20 yards, there are two hairdressers already. Extend the radius to a couple of hundred yards and you can add another three. What the area isn't short of is barbers.

Why do they do this? Does it not occur to them to do a tiny bit of research beforehand, to see what's already there? I can see the appeal of a opening a hairdresser's: not much capital expenditure to start with beyond a couple of big chairs and mirrors and some scissors; the money's straight into your hand (no need to declare everything to the taxman); low overheads. But if no one's coming in, none of that matters. And for the past two weeks I've seen an awful lot of lounging around in there, reading the paper, trying not to look too bothered that the customers aren't exactly queueing up.

Not that they're the only ones to misjudge the Stroud Green market. A pancake house opened up a couple of years back. A pancake house! Big premises as well. Why on earth would anyone open a pancake house here? I never saw more than two or three tables occupied. It was such an absurd enterprise that there was dark talk of money-laundering as its only possible raison d'etre. It's closed down now, of course.

I should set myself up as a retail management consultant, the number of misplaced ventures I've seen opening and closing round here.

Anyway, I just had my hair cut, this afternoon. Did I go to the new place on the corner? 'Fraid not. Too public, with those big clean new windows. And they'd almost certainly be pathetically grateful and far too friendly. I headed up the road to my usual place. It used to be run by a smiley Greek. Now, it's a morose Turk. Suits me. I was never quite comfortable with the old barbershop banter: See the match last night, sir? No I bloody didn't. Can I just get a haircut, please? This Turkish guy, he doesn't even smile when I come in. I don't think I've ever personally offended him. That's just the way he is.

Today he and his assistant were sitting down watching some Turkish TV program when I pushed open the door. His face didn't actually fall, but it was a close thing. I felt I should say something about how I wanted my hair done after I'd seated myself - just touching the tops of the ears, please – but I say the same thing every time, and he didn't even pretend to be interested. He was watching the TV. He even, occasionally, smiled. Not at me – at the TV.

It's not perhaps ideal, having someone hovering around your head clutching sharp instruments while their attention is focused elsewhere, but I thought it went pretty well. He was quicker than usual, which suited me. Previously I'd get impatient as he'd take yet another few snips off the top, with – I assume – the intention of demonstrating what a perfectionist he was. Not this time. He didn't even get the safety razor out for the back of my neck, which he usually does. Just as well, really, given his level of attention to the job at hand.

Yes, of course I tipped him. Well, you do, don't you? He didn't really bother with the thanks. He knew I'd tip him. Anyway, he was keen to get back to the TV.

Definitely one of my better barber visits. Though I haven't checked in the mirror since I came home.