Haircut

I'd like to share with you my experience of getting a haircut in the Sahara. When we were alone in Dakla in Wester Sahara, I decided it was time for a haircut. I left Trish in hotel and went in search of a barber's which I eventually found down a back street. It was a tiny hole in the wall shop marked outside by a pile of rubble, a bundle of rags and a dead dog. The rags turned out to be someone asleep on the rubble and when I went to step over the dead dog it raised it's head, snarled, farted and went back to sleep. (Trish said that's what she's had to put up with every morning for the last thirty odd years - Most unkind!)
Once inside the shop I was immediately pushed to the front of the queue. The guy then spent the next hour cutting my hair. This is a long time for a haircut. When I thought he had finally finished he started trimming my eyebrows. Then my nasil hair and then, before I could stop him, he whipped half a inch off my moustache. If he made a move for the trouser area I was ready to run.
He disappeared for a minute and when he returned he was carrying the biggest cut-throat razor I've ever seen in my life. continued ......