I could see there was something significant going on with this lad’s hair. Max, 13, had plainly gone to some trouble with it. His mum and dad, old friends of mine, clocked my quizzical look. “He wants a mullet and this is the closest we’ve let him get to it,” his mum said. Max explained that even getting this far on the road to full mullet had demanded some subterfuge on his part – a conspiracy, in fact, between him and the barber.
What happened was this: knowing his mum was watching him like a hawk, he asked the barber for a “low taper”. I don’t know what that is, but the barber did. This was a wink to the wise. “I know what you really want is a mullet,” she whispered to him. And minutes later, to his mother’s dismay, this new semi-mullet was getting its first outing on the streets of Chislehurst. Nice work, son.
