A visit to the hairdressers today . . . not so bad just now but over the past few visits going out into the open afterwards always comes as a bit of a shock.
The problem, as you'll see from my selfie-Blip is that Stacey, my hairdresser, insists on a very close cut, and when like me you haven't got too much hair remaining that means your scalp is pretty much exposed to the cold air.
To be fair she does a good job and I book in every five weeks. But it grows quickly and although not as thickly as I once had, nor all over,   so leave it longer and it's an unruly mess on the sides and back with nothing on top.
Long ago I gave up worrying about the loss of hair, although I suppose in my early twenties I was vane enough to try all the supposed cures for baldness. But I had to accept that it was heredity and while my grandfather had a thick crop of hair, my dad didn't follow suit.
For years though hairdressers within the family would take care of what little I eventually had left, until the day that my wife booked me in with her regular hairdressing salon.
But with a late appointment this evening, I am going to turn up so obviously freshly shorn.  Aah well. It's still me!