Life is a sequence of trivial events

Worrying signs as I got my hair cut on Saturday. It was a barbers, a normal barbers although a hair cut now costs £9 and only a couple of years ago it was around £4-5. Two things I thought were strange. Firstly the barbers asked if he could trim my eyebrows. This I thought was a sure sign of aging. Fair enough, I thought, if I can compare the Arctic Cheeky Monkeys to Ian Dury than I am getting old.
Then the second strange event. He started massaging my scalp. And it went on for about three minutes. He threw lotion on my head and worked it around. It smelt ok, it felt ok. He muttered something about its effects but I was too deeply in shock to pick it up. Only at the till did the whole shebang become clear as he attempted to flog said lotion product on me.
I politely declined and walked away wistfully wondering where the days of cheap haircuts and something for the weekend, the whole wonderfully seedy world of barbers, had gone. And when it had been replaced by this regal refinement?
And since when did I start attempting alliteration?