Wrong haircut, wrong town.

I had discovered a new village in the middle of nowhere. It was surrounded by Scottish Highlands where the weather was typically bleak. The unnamed village was suprisingly modern and I had entered a barbers for a haircut. The barber looked familiar but I didn't know him, he was a large fellow who was extremely camp. He started to cut my hair and all was well until I noticed he was shaving the hair on my neck. I realised then he was trying to give me an 'undercut' and I was most displeased with this outcome.

"I didn't ask for an undercut you ****!"

I then took his mirror (which is usually reserved for checking the back of one's head and lying about the outcome) and hit him across the face with it.

After this the locals in the village started to get restless and started to berate me. Within seconds they were attempting to assault me.

Escape was only possible on a lone donkey with no saddle; it was a most uncomfortable escape.