Looking for Mr. Goodbarber
The official version of Multiculturalism wished on us by our betters in the bureaucracy, academia, leftwing thinktanks and the commentariat - most of whom only ever meet a member of an ethnic minority when they're getting a takeaway home delivered - is so dreary, that it's often a surprise to be reminded how delightful the reality on the ground can be.
I found myself in search of a new barber, my old one having done a mysterious bunk over Christmas, after a relationship of 16 years. I thought the shop of 'Vince and Dom' looked promising, tucked away in a part of Melbourne's central district that is so unfashionable that the rents are obviously still low enough to enable something as unprofitable as a barbershop. As I stepped in, I found a small crowded shop, with absolutely no attempt at decor, and four chairs, all of them occupied. The four haircutters at work were (1) a young Chinese woman, not long in the country judging by her very rudimentary English, (2) a young Italian man, with the large soulful eyes of Armand Assante, (3) an Italian man in his 60s, and (4) a young Greek woman, of the classic, extroverted, friendly, brassy 'wog' type.
Seated was another older Italian man, happily cradling a very new, sleeping, Asian baby. At first I wondered what I had stumbled into, but there was no mistaking the happy vibe of this place. It was like a big family Sunday dinner. The cutters were constantly talking to each other, and joking with their clients. When the Chinese woman finished with her client, she gathered up her baby, with much cooing and many endearments from her colleagues - the man who had been nursing was another of the barbers. By this time, I was in the chair of Armand Assante, who didn't hesitate to leave me in order to help the Chinese woman out of the doorway with her pram.
By way of repartee, I asked Armand to make me look like George Clooney. "Ahh..", he rolled his dark Mediterranean eyes, "to have his women..." In the end, he decided that I looked even better than George Clooney. At least I'm sure George has never had a better haircut. "Hope to see you again", said Armand. He will.
The official version of Multiculturalism wished on us by our betters in the bureaucracy, academia, leftwing thinktanks and the commentariat - most of whom only ever meet a member of an ethnic minority when they're getting a takeaway home delivered - is so dreary, that it's often a surprise to be reminded how delightful the reality on the ground can be.
I found myself in search of a new barber, my old one having done a mysterious bunk over Christmas, after a relationship of 16 years. I thought the shop of 'Vince and Dom' looked promising, tucked away in a part of Melbourne's central district that is so unfashionable that the rents are obviously still low enough to enable something as unprofitable as a barbershop. As I stepped in, I found a small crowded shop, with absolutely no attempt at decor, and four chairs, all of them occupied. The four haircutters at work were (1) a young Chinese woman, not long in the country judging by her very rudimentary English, (2) a young Italian man, with the large soulful eyes of Armand Assante, (3) an Italian man in his 60s, and (4) a young Greek woman, of the classic, extroverted, friendly, brassy 'wog' type.
Seated was another older Italian man, happily cradling a very new, sleeping, Asian baby. At first I wondered what I had stumbled into, but there was no mistaking the happy vibe of this place. It was like a big family Sunday dinner. The cutters were constantly talking to each other, and joking with their clients. When the Chinese woman finished with her client, she gathered up her baby, with much cooing and many endearments from her colleagues - the man who had been nursing was another of the barbers. By this time, I was in the chair of Armand Assante, who didn't hesitate to leave me in order to help the Chinese woman out of the doorway with her pram.
By way of repartee, I asked Armand to make me look like George Clooney. "Ahh..", he rolled his dark Mediterranean eyes, "to have his women..." In the end, he decided that I looked even better than George Clooney. At least I'm sure George has never had a better haircut. "Hope to see you again", said Armand. He will.
posted by cuckoo at
8:21 PM
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