Celebrity Barbers!

 Appearing on celebrity quiz shows is always a delight. Of course, there are those who will say that such engagements are, by their nature, awful examples of employing terrible performers undertaking otherwise mundane activities for no apparent purpose save to keep them applying for jobs in Lidl. This is utter rubbish and as a regular on such programmes I can state with confidence it gives the celebrity a chance to showcase abilities which may bolster their chances of engagement. As I said to the Manager of Lidl, “we are the most precious in society, reflecting the times with live in with searing honesty”. He was obviously impressed and thanked me for coming in. Even wishing me luck as I exited the room.

There are many shows on which one can hawk your wares; celebrity baking, celebrity sewing, celebrity shoe polishing, celebrity steel foundry workers, celebrity paramedics, celebrity stuffing envelopes, celebrity head of neurological surgery at St Clements and, of course, golf.

The one I am currently appearing on is Celebrity Barbers. The premise is a simple one. People come in, are shocked that such luminaries of entertainment are at the ready with the shears, and delighted at each and every haircut we provide. Myself, Pamela Anderson, Richard Madeley, Mark Benton and Angela Rippon all donned the apron and stood by for customers. We all got on splendidly, apart from Madeley, who stood in the corner sharpening a cut throat razor and muttering about pies.

At last a customer entered. Bewildered at the array of talent before him, he went to leave but Mark Benton skilfully blocked the door. Pamela and Angela dragged him over to a chair, whilst I stood by with scissors in hand. ‘What will be be?’ I asked in my best barber voice. ‘j-j-just a haircut, please’. ‘Ah,’ I riposted ‘but what sort of hair cut?’.

I had spent two weeks studying all the haircuts in the world. From a Marie Antoinette type Le Pouf Sentimental to skinhead. I had read books, watched videos and on one occasion, been ordered off a bus. There was nothing I didn’t know about hair. Which of course not only helps me in this venture, but is yet another skill to add to my C.V.

Writing a CV is a vital skill whatever you do. You have to make everything sound positive. So that incident in Portsmouth, that was a robust negotiation, that complaint about a weird smell in the Grand, Sunderland, that was experience in conflict resolution and housekeeping. I leave off any and all references to Maidenhead.

The man in the chair shrugged and I went about my task. One of the features of the show is you are interviewed whilst you cut peoples’ hair, by the people in the chair. It really is a chance for the public to ‘connect’ with celebrities, to interact with those familiar faces on a personal level. And it really does provide some hilarious television moments. Or should do. Sadly this uneducated cretin had never heard of me or seen my work, but this was not going to make me angry or frustrated. There are plenty of people who haven’t seen my work. Just because this unenlightened oaf hadn’t witnessed me in full flow in a Hamlet or Dorien Grey or porridge commercial, didn’t mean he was an ignorant savage. Nothing much happened as I went about my Trichological duties.

The involvement of the paramedics who attended and had packed up the ear and left with the customer, made for a particularly gripping episode. My entreaty for a tip was met with a hail of abuse which won’t make it to air. I went and stood by Madeley who was still sharpening his razor. “I bet you can’t wait to shave someone, eh Richard?” I asked. His head slowly turned to me, his razor not missing a beat on it’s leather strap. ‘Yes… shave them...’ he said, quietly. After a couple of minutes I decided to go and stand in the other corner with Pamela.

Pamela is lovely and best known for running down beaches in a life guard uniform. But unusually, she has had no actual training as a life guard. This was most peculiar to me. How on earth did she get the job when not knowing anything about guarding life? How could she portray a woman with such weighty pressures without even the scant knowledge of saving someone? I asked her this and she smiled and said ‘Oh, Tarquin, you are so lovely’ and prodded me with a pair of curling tongs.

She was right, of course. We then had a fascinating discussion about the industry, about the horrors and the travails, the victories and the triumphs, and whether her agent had any openings on his books. “Oh, Tarquin” she said “They would eat you alive”. Well, I’d rather be eaten alive then be leftovers scraped into a food waste bucket. “Honestly, there are so many unemployed English Actors in L.A.” she continued “Ah,” I countered “With my resume I would have a head start”. She looked at me.

While we were talking Angela was laughing loudly, spinning Mark around in one of the chairs while he made delighted yet childish noises. “Faster, Ange, make it go faster” and Angela would increase her efforts to make Mark rotate, much to his delight.

“I made a sex tape” said Pamela, absently. I had no idea what a sex tape was, and assumed it was some sort of advice-type production for spicing up otherwise dull lives. “It was a way to get noticed” she said, her eyes never meeting mine for this revelation. “I also made a tape” I said. She finally looked at me in surprise. “Really?” “yes, about home turkey farming” I said. I then sallied forth and enlightened her on the methods and care involved in home wildfowl stewardship. She seemed very interested, though I did notice an increase in Madeley’s razor sharpening activities.

I was just about to impart some knowledge about pellets, when a customer entered and Pamela hurried off to deal with her. At this point Mark got out of his chair, considerably more dizzy than he thought he was, and fell over, pulling a sink off the wall which hit him on the head and knocked him out. Angela Rippon laughed like a drain; the customer seemed quite alarmed, but I was quick with the bon homme, guiding her to a chair despite her struggling. Once there, Pamela advanced and asked her what she would like. She said she would like to leave. Pamela persisted. Eventually she settled on the traditional shampoo and set.

With Benton still unconscious, it left just me and Angela unoccupied. And Madeley, of course, who was licking the razor, staring wide eyed at us both, before resuming refreshing his blade. Another woman entered, and this time we decided to give her the choice. The woman in the chair also offered advice – ‘Leave while you can!’ - but was muffled half way through by Pamela shoving her elbow in the woman’s face.

“I have a wedding at the weekend” she said, stepping over Mark Benton who was still out cold on the floor, “and I would like… is that the man from Shakespeare and Marlow?”. Angela Rippon, always fast on her feet, said ‘Yes, and I’m a legendary newsreader, Pamela is a world famous model and actress and this is Tarquin McPhereson”. I felt slighted; that she didn’t know any of my work felt like a slap across the face. “How dare you Madam, I am a national treasure!”. There ensued an argument about my career, during which the woman left and Pamela somehow set fire to to the hair of the lady in the chair.

The producer then entered and said that was probably the best we could hope for for this particular edition, and bid us all farewell. I was sad to leave Angela and Pamela, who seemed interesting people with tales to tell. Unfortunately by the time it occurred to me to get their numbers they had both left in a cab. Benton, of course, was unable to share his details, and was wheeled out on a gurney to a waiting ambulance. I was very surprised that Madeley wasn’t actually in the show, but apparently spends all his spare time in the shop staring furiously at passing members of the public through the shop window whilst honing his edge.