David McWilliams: Hometown fightback: it's time to get the ball rolling
I walked by the barbers in Dalkey yesterday and for a split second I was back in the mid-1970s. I was once again the little boy with the flaming red hair, short pants and freckles looking up at the kind barber. The boy had a dilemma and the barber was the only person in the whole world who could solve it.
My earliest memories of Castle Street, Dalkey, were Saturday mornings in Dom McClure's barber shop with my father. Dom cut my grandad's hair, my dad's hair and now he was shearing mine.
Most importantly, everyone in Dalkey knew that Dom McClure understood hair and his magic hair oil could turn my red hair black so that no one in school would ever call me rusty, redser or jaffahead again. Dom was not just a barber, he was my saviour and through Dom I would be redeemed. He promised that by the time I was 10, I'd be jet black. I believed him.