Paris Syndrome strikes hairdresser

I got my hair cut today. It’s a 6-8 week event that I truthfully really look forward to. It’s not the thought of getting a smart haircut that excites, oddly, it’s the small talk.

Sure, there’s a smattering of “going anywhere nice on your holidays” and “what are you doing for Christmas” – after all, it is a hairdressers, but it’s the neat dovetailing from the banal to the inflamatorily dangerous which I love. Today’s conversation combined skiing in Canada (“great nightlife in Banff you know”), to how rude the French are (“they even dare speak French”). Well, it doesn’t get ruder than deigning to speak their own language in their own capital city, n’est pas? My fingers cannot type the stream of conscious filth that spewed forth, children might be reading.

Reminded me of this news story, describing a condition called Paris Syndrome, often caught by 30-something Japanese women visiting the French capital. So shocked are they by the bustle of Paris and their lack of manners (when compared with Japan), that they go into shock, retreat at once to the Japanese embassy and seek immediate repatriation.

It appears my hairdresser might be a sufferer.