It was just Paul getting rumbled.
He was sat in the barber’s shop, mid hair cut, when his phone rang. Apologising to the barber, he took the call as it was his boss’s number.
“Where are you?” the boss said.
“I’m just up at the Gorsey job, finishing the panel wiring,” Paul said.
“You’re a fucking liar, Paul,” said the boss. “Because I’m looking at you through the fucking barber shop window.”
And so Paul had been rumbled, caught in the act of lying. Rumbled has many definitions, but that one is my favourite.
Paul later claimed he’d told the boss that since his hair grew in work’s time, he’d have it cut in work’s time. Knowing him, I reckon he would have said it, too.