Where else do you get to listen to a dire radio station through tinny speakers for two and a half hours?
Where else do you get a chance to detail your holiday plans to a complete stranger?
Where else would you let someone lather dangerous chemicals onto your skin and then agree to inhale them for thirty minutes?
Where else would you take style advice from a nineteen-year-old Britney lookalike?
Where else would you be talked into parting with 11€ for a bottle of something that is, in all likelihood, no better than the version you could buy in the supermarket for 2€?
Where else does sheer boredom drive you to read every single page of the sort of magazine that you wouldn't normally even consider opening for fear of rotting you eyes?
Where else would you be willing to spend a couple of hours contemplating your increasingly imperfect reflection in unflattering light?
Where else would you allow someone to sit you in a shop window with a towel on your head?
At the hairdresser's of course. I had a great morning.