We returned from the “BC invasion” trip into a bit of a hornet’s nest, after loading up our Napoleonic expedition of luggage into the Kei truck and loading humans into the van (yes, two vehicles) was told there was a funeral (an auntie I never met) and of course, funerals are not to be missed.
A few hours of sleep and dutifully knocked off my magnificent beard to respectable trim – but done in haste.
Of course, with a black suit and sunglasses to hide the saggy eyes, I was my usual debonair shape-shifter, ha ha yes, “the worlds worst secret agent”.
Things got even more topsy-turvy from there and the hair getting sloppy and my own job on the beard completely inadequate so took myself for some self-care at the “lost in showa” barbershop with ashtrays, faded manga, the backwards barber clock and the jovial second (at least) generation Barber.
{I mention this because every article about Japan’s rapid rate of the population mentions the amount of businesses without a successor so worth mentioning the ones which are generational.}
As is my custom, after a great haircut and an even better straight razor shave leaving a magnificent mustache, I asked him for a “twofer” snapshot and he readily obliged.
Brought him a present from Canada (a shot glass) and just in case I didn’t share it before, here is the photo of the trim up on the head just before the trip.
And since I’m here over documenting the mundane, here is another addition to the “me and Ichiro sitting in the backseat of the van while he looks increasingly disgruntled” collection
