Last month the Gorse Fox was talking to Angus. Angus is like a cross between a championship sheep-shearer and Edward Scissorhands. You sit down in the chair - a hum of electonic shears starts, then there's a flashing of steel as scissors orbit your head and then it's done. Five minutes, max.
Angus was extolling the pleasures of Champagne - the Gorse Fox explained that he and the Silver Vixen were underwhelmed and that whilst he is frequently gifted bottles as awards and "thankyous"... they tend to sit in the corner unopened.
"Do you drink Scotch?" he asked.
The Gorse Fox explained that for purely medicinal purposes the water of life had been known to pass his lips. Angus explained that customers often bring him whiskey at Christmas - and he doesn't drink it. "How about a swap?" he asked.
And so yesterday the Gorse Fox went, clutching a bottle of Piper-Heidseck to get his hair cut - and returned with short hair and a couple of bottles of scotch.
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