Hairstyle

I'm quite lucky to still have one. Hairstyles seem to be a bit like making new friends down the pub, or having a favourite advert or something, a thing that somehow fades with age until not only is it not there, but it seems odd to have ever cared in the first place.

Not that I ever made any new friends down the pub. I always assumed it was something that happened to other people. Maybe it didn't. Or only to pub-based alcoholics. If you're an alcoholic, being pub-based is either a) a really good idea or b) a really fucking stupid idea. Not quite sure which.

Anyway.

I have a hairstyle, of sorts. It only looks very good when I treat it with a special hairstyling implement, known to some as millinery, and to me as a hat. If I don't wear a hat, the hairstyle adopts sarcastic quote marks around it, and becomes a hair "style", mostly consisting of some sort of tenacious fluff, like a really stubborn dandelion in a gale.

I don't really get to choose my hairstyle. It sort of happens to me. I'm currently sporting what is almost certainly called a grown out mid-period Alan Turing. Ha. I bet there's no-one reading this* who has one of them.

* a statement which is equally true if you just stop at this asterisk.