Day out in Stratford-upon-Avon








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A wonky couple of days

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Jimmy the hairdresser

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Missionary life is one of learning to make many small adjustments. And after a year or two life in the foreign country becomes normal. At least on 95% of occasions. One simple thing that always seems to cause me problems is getting my hair cut. It's cheap and Latins are skillful, but my experiences have been problematic. At one the lady employed such strong arm tactics with my head that I wince every time I pass the place; at another the hairdresser was so absorbed watching TV that I ended up with an unusual lopsided style. And a recent one was so dirty that my stomach churns thinking about it. So it was to new premises I turned, my ninth different one in the city. The microskirted girl called for "Jimmy" as I went in. With Rangers playing their big match I felt this was a good omen. Until Jimmy arrived, with his one earring and distinctive walk and talk. I noticed that the theme colour of the establishment was pink. As Jimmy tended my hair, I pondered about why missionar...
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This past week

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