Wednesday, June 9, 2010

On being follically challenged...

It's time for a change.

A few years back I shaved my head to raise money for Soul in the City, and while Wifey was less than keen she let me it do it because it was, you know, for 'charity'. I soon let my keratin-based growth return to normal but must confess I missed the freedom of a dome-shaped bonce. Not having the wind transform my hair into some form of ungainly shrubbery or spending ten minutes each morning glooping sticky gel or wax into my mane was great - it let me focus on more important things in my life like curing cancer, negotiating peace talks with Iran or coming up with alternative new words for 'fickle'.

Unlike most normal people, my hair grows like it's on steroids so ideally I need a cut every fortnight, but as a compromise I aim for once a month. Trouble is, my hairdresser has been off work for a few weeks after breaking a bone in her foot, and I've been really busy so my hair has just been getting longer and longer having not had a cut for at least two months.

So tonight I decided to take the plunge and shave it all off again. Not for charity this time, but just for the hell of it (I know, I really live life on the EDGE don't I?).

Less insulation on top makes the summer just that bit bearable, but no doubt I'll be back to see my hairdresser soon. After all, I'll have a full head of hair in no time and it'll need chopping again.

Change is good - but only for a short while.


  1. I was just sent this - you may find it useful.
    It's by Bob Goddard...

    You are old, Father William, the young man said,
    And hair sprouts in tufts from your ears.
    Is there something you do to encourage it,
    Or is it down to the passage of years?

    When I was younger, the old man replied,
    Hair grew on the top of me head.
    Now I'm old and grey it's lost its way
    And comes out of me orifices instead.

    You are wrong, Father William, the young man said,
    You spend too much time in the shed;
    And the hair in your ears has grown to keep out
    The spiders that drop on your head.

    Nonsense, my son, the old sage retorted,
    You know naught of my auditory hairs.
    Lay off me brown ale, don't touch that pork pie,
    Sod off or I'll kick you downstairs!