"It must be hugely exciting, Varadkar being Taoiseach," my barber raved, mid-way through cutting my hair.
"Right," I answered distantly, bewildered, not wanting to be drawn into conversation.
"It will be great for you, I bet you think it's fab," she added quizzically.
"Yep!" I said uneasily, in the vaguest terms possible, to obscure the fact I know next to nothing about politics.
I offered a supportive half-smile, to discourage further probing.
"He'll do no wrong in your eyes, and many others, he has a lot of back-up," she clarified, making it abundantly clear she was referring to his sexuality, chipping away at some inane identity political theory she had contrived in her head.
I sensed annoyance, probably because I was being incredibly uncooperative in indulging her by being the accomplice to the interview.
I winced in disbelief, and chewed on the inside of my cheek.
"Will you be long more?" I said with more authority than I felt, wanting no further business with Nancy Drew's spawn.
"Two minutes," she replied, craning my head back.
"Two minutes," she replied, craning my head back.
