When we first moved here, she was recommended to me by a friend whose whole family has their hair cut by her, so I felt quite secure in trusting my crowning glory to her care. And generally she does a wonderful job.
However one day, a few years ago, my friend's husband showed up at our house with the oddest haircut. Rick normally has a full thick beautiful head of hair, but this day the whole front part of his hair was shorn right down to nothing, while the back part looked normal.
And then he told us that, in the process of making idle chit-chat during his haircut, he made the mistake of asking Gail about her husband. Turns out that she was in the process of splitting up with him. Being reminded of it made her so distraght that she completely butchered Rick's once-lovely hair and he was too frightened to say anything thing to her at the time.
Over the years, Gail found another man, whom she is also in business with, and all seemed stable, but we still joke about never asking her about her relationships while she is holding something sharp.
Last week I went in to have my colour touched up, and as I was sitting there captive in a hairdresser gown with evil smelly vile goop smeared on my head, we naturally started chatting. She asked me what I was having for supper and I told her, and she responded that she didn't know what she was going to cook. And then she said words that made my blood run cold "now that I am only cooking for myself".
Oh no, I thought, she's split up with her partner again and here I am being held prisoner. And I started praying to tiny infant baby Jesus, watching baby Einstein videos and learning about shapes and colours, please get me out of this unscathed. For, although I wasn't getting my hair cut that particular day (thank you tiny baby Jesus, doesn't know a word yet, but still omnipotent), that nasty hair dye could still do serious damage. I could come away blinded or suffering serious deformities.
I ever so smoothly switched the topic of conversation and managed to escape without having my skin or eyeballs seared away by toxic chemicals.
I'm pretty certain that Stuart Murdoch must cut his own hair. Or perhaps his mother cuts it.
"We all know you're soft cause we've all seen you dancing, we all know you're hard cause we've all seen you drinking from noon until noon again, you're the boy with the filthy laugh, you're "The Boy With the Arab Strap" [mp3]
And this one goes out to be little baby Jesus, 6 lbs 7 oz, in your golden fleece diaper: "If I Should Fall From Grace With God" [mp3]