I almost cried when I saw my youngest walk into the carpark, where I was waiting, after his visit to our tiny market town Arab Barber shop for a hair/beard/ear/eyebrow thingy. He smelled divine.
Bear with me.
Son first went to Dubai aged 20 to work with his Dad and spent a few years there, on and off. So he has a real affinity with Arab Barbers. The eyebrow threading. The nose and ear waxing. The slap of a boiling hot towel on the face. The fragrant oils. So much more sophisticated than the old UK barber with manic scissors and his “something for the weekend, sir?” as he eyes the condom machine.
Tonight my boy is going out for dinner with two of his best mates from school.
It’s 5 or 6 years since I’ve seen these two. Once upon a time they were regulars in our house. From the age of 11 up to their mid/late-20’s.
This child is so much like me. Difficult. Arsey. Out-spoken but with a wide and long-lasting group of school mates.
I’m so excited to see the boys again. Sorry. MEN