A few months ago I wrote a blog about hair.
I blamed hair for the world’s problems.
Well, look around. Trump. Boris. Geert Wilders. Mick Wallace.
I even forgot to include Kim Jong-un.
Vladimir’s hair isn’t exactly fashionable either.
But, I said, look at me. I’m normal.
In fact, I thought my hair, while I had it, was always pretty normal.
This week a “friend” of mine sent me a photograph she unearthed from our college days.
I say “friend” because the picture is hideous. The only reason I cut the other people out of it is because they look normal and their normality makes me look worse.
One person to whom I showed the photograph even pointed out that I was wearing matching shirt and trousers.
Well it was trendy at the time.
Probably.
I showed the picture to Charlotte. Mortified doesn’t cover it.
“How long were the barbers on strike for in 1973?” one “friend” asked me.
I’m in two minds.
Shiny head or hairy head.
And, sorry Charlotte, I’d go for hairy if I had a choice.
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