A Fine Head of Hair

One of the things I got the mickey taken out of me for at school was always my hair. It's my dad's fault, genetically speaking. It won't sit still. Ever. Remember Mr Majeika? That was me... So you can imagine my relief when at uni it became clear that roughing it up in a sort of, just-got-up-but-sculpted kinda fashion became acceptable.

It's a bit long at the mo, but I can just about get away with it.

Popped up to the Seabird Centre in North Berwick today to see my shortlisted entry in their competition (see yesterday's blip). Interesting to see in context, I guess it qualifies as my first exhibition. Maybe stands a chance in the Landscape category - we'll wait and see...

Speaking of school playground taunts, loads of nostalgia on the go just now with someone on Facebook doing really well at setting up a reunion of our secondary school year next year. Not that I'm likely to attend - having got married to, then divorced from, someone in that year... Things could be a little awkward. And there's always the danger the roughed up hair loses its appeal and I go back to being Mr Majeika, and I can't have that...