If you are a man of mature years and rather tired of having hung-over twenty-something girls try and cut your hair, this is the place for you. I was once a regular, but was inconvenient for the City unless one could factor in lunch at the Mirabelle opposite, which put the price up somewhat. Having been butchered once too often, I ventured back again and was treated to a timeless experience - a full cut-throat razor shave and a classic haircut with lots of ‘I think I can manage to get it back into shape’ from a sound chap with a steady hand. In response to my query ‘should I be putting anything on my hair’, the admirable fellow said ’ nothing at all, sir’, despite the shop being full of expensive ungents for just that purpose.

The front of the shop has a beautiful 18th century facade (it’s been going since 1875) and inside there’s a counter laden with ‘men’s toiletries’ of great style and no little expense and the smell of eau-de-cologne and bay rum hang in the air. I left feeling refreshed and pleased that it was still possible to find a hairdresser that does not expect to chat about their last holiday and doesn’t play the cashier’s favourite awful music at high volume while trying to give you a ‘footballers’ haircut’.