Prejudices… or bits and pieces of a misanthrope’s mind
What’s in a name? As silly as Dovo, Dorko and Dorp King sound, Col. Conk must win some sort of booby prize. I don’t think I could stand to own anything with the name Col. Conk on it. Unless I really was a colonel named Conk.
Boy, was I surprised when I learned the French made razors. When I think of cutlery, I think of England, Germany, Spain. France? I didn’t know France made anything worth owning.
I’ve never tried a double edged “safety” razor. To be honest, those things scare me. I don’t want a safe razor anymore than I want a safe gun.
What’s in a name part 2: When discussing shaving, areas of the face need readily recognizable and uniform names. The Charlie Chaplin Zone, and the Zappa come to mind. Others?
I don’t have a single American made razor. I must rectify the situation immediately.
I find it ironic that so many high-end shaving soaps are made in England. When I was there, there didn’t seem to be any hot water in that whole country.
If the law required truth in advertising: Gillette! The Campbell’s Soup of Shaving!
Just when I think I’ve mastered the straight razor, a piece of my chin in the sink insists otherwise.
Is there anything prettier than those notch-pointed hump-backed Sheffields?
It was brave man who first shaved with a badger. But the badger brush, that was a big improvement…
And why badgers? Why not weasels, stoats, wolverines, ermines, wooly gerbils, tabbies, pandas?
For the first thirty years of my life, I went to only one barber. He was like the Sicilian grandfather I never had. I miss him.
regards &c
LG Roy
