Hair We Go.


If I end 2015 with the same hairline I’ll be happy.

That’s not strictly true. In an ideal world, December David will have slightly more up front than Current-day David is sporting at the moment. Not too much. I don't want to be greedy. Just a few extra producing follicles front-left and front-right.

When it comes to my head, something’s afoot. I should have said that in fewer body parts. There’s a small shift taking place in the frontline of my barnet. Let me put it like this: if my face was the location for Michael Caine’s breakthrough 1964 film Zulu, and my forehead the missionary station Rorke’s Drift, Caine and his compatriots would have had a lot less to fear from the soon-to-be-advancing Bantu ethnic army. There would have been a couple of escape routes on the horizon at the very least.

(In other words, I think my hair's receding a bit.)

If it’s true, it’s a worrying reminder of passing time. There’s no going back. I don’t want to be bald before I’m successful. I can’t have a hair island.   

There’s not much I can do, other than start researching transplants. Either that, or buy a hat. It worked for Van Morrison.

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