My hair – primarily that on my head, but more widely distributed examples should not become too complacent – has always been rather a disappointment to me. It has been consistently obstreperous for as long as I can remember, rarely being content to follow the very reasonable dictates of its titular ruler. I say ‘ruler’ as I recently discovered that one of the reasons for this bad behaviour is the rather eccentric location of my crown (it is still on my head, but only just). For the last decade-and-a-half, it has further blotted its already ink-stained copy book by gradually losing its melanin – which I ascribe to outright carelessness on its part (though some might make reference to genetic factors or my antiquity).
I never really feel that I have found a satisfactory, or indeed consistent, style for my barnet. I suppose this may not have been helped by my unwillingness to spend more than a handful of seconds in the daily attempt to form it into a less embarrassing shambles. However, at the gym this morning I saw a choice of coiffure that didn’t so much take the stylistic biscuit as guzzle down the entire packet and then look for more. The young lady in question had bleached her hair blonde – fair enough, we’ve all tried it – but had then added splodges of blue dye of a very particular hue. As a result, her head gave the appearance of having been tupped by an extremely myopic ram or one perhaps one with a desire “to go where no ram has gone before”, but who had been handicapped in his amorous desires by a rather poor grasp of human anatomy. Rest assured, I shall not be trying this ‘inattentive shepherd’ look any time soon.