Scalped

Francis arrives back from the interview with Posh Headhunter for the hair extension job. "How did it go?"

"Fair," he says. "They asked me what I'd do to grow the business and I suggested plaiting it and adding a small bow at the end."

"Did you really?" This isn't the Francis I know.

"Well, no, as it happens. But I might just as well. It was obvious I didn't really have the in-depth hair salon experience they were after."

Up till now, it's all sounded fairly standard, but not out of the ordinary, until he tells me that Posh Headhunter asked him if he'd use the product himself.

"I said 'yes', and told them I'd be happy to be a male case study. Then," he continues, "She came over and inspected my hair. 'Of course, you're not really receding, just thinning,' " she said.

There are several things I would have said at this point, which is why self-employment has been my preferred method of earning a living for some time. Francis, the soul of tact, however, says nothing. Nor does he fell her with a swift left hook. I can't help thinking that in many ways he's probably a better person than I am.

I know he needs a job. I know we need the money. But is this sort of ritual humiliation par for the course at interviews these days. What will he be required to do next to demonstrate the extent of his employer loyalty? Have their mission statement tattooed on his bottom - or, in his case, his scalp? Or just sign an agreement saying that in case of difficulty, he's had break-out training in ritual self-sacrifice?

He's left the letter from the headhunter on the table. "Miserably different," is its motto. Quite right, too, I think. At least they realise. But, no, I've misread it. Not 'miserably' but, of course, 'measurably,'. Next time - if there is one - I'm going to suggest that Francis takes a tape measure and a pair of scissors when he visits them. At least he can see they how well they live up to their promise.