Whilst having my haircut, my barber weirdly said: “Guess my favourite film.”
My immediate thought was this game could literally take years and the chicken I left cooking at home will be cremated.
Being a hostage in his chair, I reluctantly decided to painstakingly go through every film I knew alphabetically from “Abba – The Movie” to “Zulu.”
Luckily, he stopped me before I became in need of another haircut by proudly announcing: “It’s Crocodile Dundee!”
At which point I had to feign a smile and obligatory say: “That’s not a knife… that’s a knife!” because it’s the rules of “bants” apparently?
He enthused about his love of Liam Neeson “Taken” films, where Bryan, the unluckiest guy in the world, has all his family kidnapped at various times and explains why he’s no longer invited to family gatherings.
He then tried to impress me by saying he had a 55-inch tv on his bedroom wall and I truthfully told him that a 55-inch tv attached to any wall in my flat was likely to pull the building down.
He then asked me to guess how much his front room projector cost him?
I assumed it was gonna be expensive because no one ever ask you how much you think they paid for a KitKat unless they purchased it from a railway station or a concert venue where the price can easily run into 3 figures – like £1.20.
“4…” I offered, leaving a long pause whilst my frustratingly indecisive Libran brain contemplated whether to add the words “pounds,” “hundred,” “thousand,” or “million.”
“Yes, £4,000,” he interrupted, helpfully.
I’ve never understood why people like to boast about the cost of their possessions. To me, the cost is irrelevant. A toaster is a toaster. It makes toast. If the idea is to make me feel inferior, it doesn’t. I’ve never left anyone’s house with a worrying toaster envy.
So, maybe I shouldn’t have been too surprised when I asked him the cost of my haircut and he alarmingly said: “Guess how much…”