A silent barber is a wondrous thing. Enoch Powell famously willed the loquacious House of Commons clipper to be as wordless as a Trappist. This wish is rarely granted, however, and men in particular tend to put up with prattle about Strictly, climate change and Wayne Rooney. The reason? The barber has a razor in his hand. From shorn Samson to Sweeney Todd, men grasp that they are living dangerously.
How much better it would be if hairdressers were trained to offer useful advice. The young apprentice cutters of Calderdale College in Halifax have become pioneers. They now offer “short, evidence-based” contributions on the risks of alcohol. They do so safe in the knowledge that as long as there are scissors hovering all too close to vital organs they have a captive audience. It is not difficult to see this practice being expanded to include advice on marital problems and shyness.
Hairdressers must wield their power, along with their razors, carefully. According to pollsters, they rank among the most trusted professionals in Britain. Sixty-nine per cent of Britons believe what hairdressers tell them. Others can only dream of scaling these heights. The figure for journalists is 25 per cent, and MPs 21 per cent. No wonder, then, that politicians seek the advice of scissored stylists. David Cameron even gave his clipper a gong for so-called services to hairdressing. Perhaps he offered some well chosen words on political longevity while slicing off his locks like Delilah? Or spending cuts?
Theresa May, we feel sure, will confide to her colourist what it means to be shunned at European summits. Boris Johnson, in his rare trips to the hair salon, will no doubt be offered, apart from his customary close shave, some choice words about dealing with Donald Trump, another man with hair-raising ideas.