Hair apparent. Well, it wasn’t, actually. It was a wig and and when Oscar winner Cliff Robertson was staying at the Caley and asked where he should get a haircut, staff automatically recommended Charlie Miller’s across the road in Stafford Street.
“We’ve never forgotten Mr Robertson,” recalls Charlie. “Besides being a thorough gent, he was extremely fussy about the wig. We’re fussy, too, in that everybody but everybody who comes into the salon for a haircut must have it shampooed.
“Mr Robertson was an exception in that it was a wig and all he asked for was a tidy-up. We were happy to oblige and, after all, he had been an Oscar winner. It was an expertly crafted wig, by the way.”
Cliff, a Hollywood hunk of the Sixties, died at the weekend in his native California. He was 88. He won the Best Actor Oscar in 1969 for Charly and his other films were the Wing Commander in 633 Squadron, Picnic and Sunday in New York.
America’s Republicans hated Oscar-winning movie-maker Michael Moore near to death because of his fearless stance (ultimately vindicated) against the Iraq war. Among other things, they branded him a croissant eater. Me? I’m a Danish pastry eater, which doesn’t necessarily make me a bad person.