London's Best Kept Secret (When you've got time for it)

Earlier this week, I needed a haircut. My previous 'trim' had been just before our wedding (a month ago) and as someone who is blessed with/suffers from particularly thick hair, it was time for a new 'do'.

Among other responsibilities, I had an appointment with students in the afternoon, so being the diligent professional, I got up early, hoping to get the haircut out of the way and be in work for 10am. On the off chance that they might be open early, I wandered along East Finchley High Street at 8.30am. Nothing was open, so I took the tube to Camden: self obsession capital of... well the capital. Surely there'd be planty of salons open?

Wrong. The only place I could find that was open couldn't fit me in until 11am. Presumably, the routine in London is to open late and stay open late. Dare I say your average coiffeur enjoys a late night shandy or two.

This was no consolation to me - I was on a mission. I had an interview coming up and felt that this morning was my only chance to get smartened up. I know, I know, in hindsight I should've booked an appointment somewhere, but I was still to decide exactly which establishment I'd like to frequent as a 'regular'.

Slightly panicking at this point, I hopped back on the tube and (knowing the area reasonably well) got off at Goodge Street. Yet again, I passed many hairdressers, but all had the shutters down. I broke into a jog and headed into Bloomsbury - still nothing. I was starting to despair and trotted down Gower Street towards the Tottenham Court Road. Then it hit me. In massive lettering, the length of four storeys: TONI & GUY. I was saved. My jog became a sprint and I headed towards this chrome oasis. As I got closer I noticed others going in: it was definitely open.

Upon entering, I was in for a bit of a shock:

"Hi there, I wondered if you could possibly fit me in this morning"
"Just wait there."

I couldn't believe the rudeness. It looked as though several stylists were just waiting around, surrounded by bored looking punters. It was akin to a refugee camp - what the hell was going on? Eventually, an Italian gentleman who appeared to be in charge (not sure if he was Toni or Guy) picked out eight people, including me. "We'll take them."

I was told to sign a disclaimer. I was just about to leave, thoroughly confused and annoyed by the whole experience, before I heard those magic words: 'You can have any style you want for five pounds'.

Well, I can't resist a bargain. But the price came at a price.

It turns out I'd stumbled upon the T&G training academy. The student working on my Barnet was warm and friendly - another Italian called Nora, she washed my hair and gave an excellent head massage - I couldn't believe my luck. Until, that is, the actual haircut began. Bless her, she would run off and fetch Toni (or Guy) to check after what felt like each third snip.

To 'cut' a long story short, it took three and a half hours and I only just made it to work for 2pm. I now feel guilty for repeatedly asking Nora "It looks done - can I go now?" but I was so stressed - what else could I do?

Suffice to say, I'm never getting a haircut anywhere else ever again. Only next time, it'll be on one of my days off, and I'll be sure to carry a copy of 'War and Peace'.