Outgrowing the mullet

I devoted the best part of 1989 to 1993 to the outgrowing of the mullet.
Bono, you bastard, I still hold you responsible.
This is as long as my hair ever got (and I can safely add, ever will).
This was taken a few days after coming back from France with a Ford Sierra estate bootful of cheap beer. And Chris.
A hot month of July in Liverpool was about to begin.

The man from my local kebab shop cried when I left at the end of that month, after 11 months of my devoted and reliable custom.

His gross income declined by 13% from that day.