WHILE HAVING MY hair trimmed recently by an Albanian barber, who came to London from Prishtina in Kosovo, I  recalled a visit to a barbershop in rural Italy.

It was in the 1980s and I was driving through northern Italy on my way to visiting my sister, who lived further south. I decided that I  should have my hair tidied up before I  saw her, and stopped my hired car outside a hair cutting establishment in a small village.

I entered the parrucchiere and was summoned to a chair by one of the barbers. He began cutting my hair, and then stopped suddenly.  Throwing his hands up above his head, he exclaimed operatically:

“Forfore!”,

Which is the Italian  word for ‘dandruff’.

Hearing this, other customers sitting in the shop, awaiting their turn, looked alarmed, and covered their heads with their hands.

Without asking me, the barber applied a lotion to my head. Whatever it was, it felt as if it was boring its way into my skull. This medication added an extra 5000 lire (£4 at the time, but about £10 in today’s  money) to my bill (those were the days before Italy adopted the Euro).

Well, I am pleased to report that today my barber from Kosovo did not feel it necessary to throw up his hands and exclaim in  Albanian:

“zbokth!”