I never really understood the appeal of getting a haircut.  From when I was a boy all the way up to adulthood, I would sit in an awkward silence whilst the hairdresser cut my hair.  I wasn’t really sure what to do and spent most of my time trying to avoid eye contact with myself in the huge, well-lit mirror.  Surely it’s a bit vain to look at yourself for too long?

Most people at the barbers seem to enjoy themselves.  Even with the crazy queueing system, where each man has to remember where he is in the line so as to avoid losing his place.  They all chat away together about their day, talking about this and that. Nothing more memorable than background noise.

When it came to me though the barber knew better than to try any small talk. I guess he saw it in my face that I had no intention of engaging in any kind of conversation about anything. I guess I just found the whole experience quite awkward.

And so when I finished school I let my hair grow long and messy, which was handy seeing as I was into Nirvana at the time. Everyone just presumed I was a “Grunger” or a “Greebo”, but in reality I suppose I was just avoiding another dreaded haircut.

Fast forward 15 years, and the long messy hair is gone, only to be replaced by a receding hairline. Nobody enjoys a receding hairline, but the one consolation I took from this was that I wouldn’t need the hairdresser anymore. I only had to shave any remaining bits of hair off at home, a number 1 all over. Only this made me look like an East End thug. I figured growing a beard would help, but soon realised I was 10 tattoos away from resembling a Hell’s Angel.

Looking like a thug or a Hell’s Angel is useful if going to a dodgy pub full of gangsters, but when you’re in a supermarket buying your fruit and veg it’s overkill.

It became clear I couldn’t do this grooming at home, so my Wife introduced me to the Indian Pop-Up Barbershop.

Located in her Grandparents’ bedroom, it’s not your typical setting for a haircut, but is a far more comfortable and pleasant experience.

For a start, you have a wider choice of seating arrangements. A bed, an armchair and a Zimmer frame with a padded seat are just a few options. Believe it or not, the Zimmer frame quickly became my seat of choice. For anybody over 6 foot tall I highly recommend this, as it offers excellent arm support and is surprisingly comfortable.

These days there are many trendy barbershops on the high street, furnished with comfortable sofas and hairdressers with immaculate beards, serving you coffee whilst you wait, but despite all that I can’t beat the Indian Pop-Up Barbershop.

Every two months we meet, the age range is 20-90, imagine Desmond’s but with Indians instead. Well, everybody is Indian except me. We all sit together while the haircuts take place, Mirel joins us and helps translate the banter for me, the conversation ranges from the ridiculous to the sublime; supermarket special offers always make an appearance.  It’s very simple, but also very charming.

At the end, with everybody looking pristine like a freshly mown lawn, Ba ensures everybody is fed. Thepla, ondhvo, gantia and chevdo are served alongside a huge pot of masala chai (and a coffee for me).

The hairdresser is called Arvindbhai, a Gujarati who owns a hairdressers on the other side of London. But he kindly drives all the way over to us to cut Mirel’s Granddad’s hair, as a special mark of respect for a man who is getting ever closer to 100 years old. And honestly, who can be bothered with a long drive when you’re that old?