"It's fantastic," I say with relish, "I know I say this every time, but you are a genius."
The praise is accepted graciously by H, who has just cut my hair and affected what could be called a sea change; transforming my usual spiky mess into a sensible and grown-up spiky style.
"Really," I continue to enthuse, building up a head of steam, "I know I shouldn't say this since it's my hair, but it looks great. I'm complimenting your handy-work really, not bigging myself up."
"I'm pleased with it, it's come out well" says H, calmly and with a touch of self-deprecation. We walk over to the till and busy ourselves with the business of payment. I catch the eye of one of the girls who works in the salon.
"Seriously," I say in a totally unprompted outburst, "your man here is a genius, I am so impressed as always!"
"I like your hair more spiky," she says "like it was when you came in."
I cannot help but think that this is not the best thing for someone who works in a hair salon to say.