Yesterday I went to the hairdresser who has a small hairdressing salon on the campus, inside the Student Union. Handy when your hair needs cutting but you are too lazy to try and find a decent hairdresser in town, and cheap as well (£10, a reasonable price, actually less than what I am used to paying in France).

The sign outside the salon reads: "International hair style" or something in this fashion. Very impressive. It makes you think this guy has travelled a lot to acquire an unprecedented hair styling technique, that he is a master in his craft, and thus makes you wonder how such a genius has ended here, on the campus of the University of Hull.

I don't know if this guy has any hairdressing diploma. He actually cut my hair almost entirely with clippers and did not wash or even wet it beforehand (I guess that is the english way of cutting hair, I'd better get used to it if I ever choose to live in England). What is sure however is that, unlike too often at the hairdresser's, I had quite an interesting conversation with him. We did not speak of the wheather, not even of the world cup and of Zidane's headbutt.

Guessing that I am not English is simple. But I find that most of the people I meet cannot tell where I am from (good for me since that means I don't have this most hated french accent). But our guy is perceptive, he knew at once that I was French. When I asked him if it was that obvious, he said yes... Erm, too bad for me, it seems after all that I have this accent...

So I said: "I guess that means I'm not ready yet to pass myself off as an englishman". To which he answered: "Why on earth would you try to pass yourself off as an englishman? Don't you want to get laid ever again?". I love this form of humour, a kind of self derision english people are usually very good at.

It seems that as well as being a joker, our man was also learned in english history. When he learned that I came from Normandy, I suddenly became no less than William the Conqueror's heir, and was held greatly responsible for fucking the english language. Yes that's right. We Normands are responsible for messing up the original english language that had mostly Nordic origins, and according to Mr Hairdresser, looked more like the actual Flemish. Since that time, a baby sheep is not called a baby sheep anymore, but a lamb. What a mess. He also said something about the colour of white horses that are in fact never really white, rather grey, but I didn't really get this bit. The word cavalry would come directly from its french translation, cavalerie (sounds very possible, the linguistic link between horse and cavalry being quite obscure, if there is any). What a mess.

But most interesting of all is his theory to explain why we Frog eaters call the English people Roast beefs. At the time of the conquest of England by William, the English people lived mostly in the country in small villages and would breed cattle for their survival. According to this remarkable theory, there would have been a lot of pagan worship going on among these villagers and they would sacrifice the beef to their pagan divinities (and eat them afterwards, not that stupid!). I don't know what credit to give to this theory... Fair enough anyway, this Roast beefs name is as stupid as the Frogs nickname given to the French.

When I remarked that he seemed to know quite well history, the answer was as funny as the whole character, something like: "Unlike you, I don't have a life. Therefore I've got plenty of time for reading". So if I read less I would have a life? Hum, sounds interesting! But apart from being a famous international hairdresser and having no life, our man is also a DJ, and he is deejaying in a club called Yellow in town.

A man full of surprises indeed, you would not expect that from a hairdresser. For once, having my hair cut was not as dull and boring as usual.