Do you see the fresh faced youngster, delighted to have been selected for his primary schools Under 9 side a year early?(back right)
If you met me in Liverpool you may remember a different chap. A chap who loved living in Halls of residence, a man who honestly believed that Supper was served in the Hall Dining Room at 5pm, so that you could have a second feed at 9. The 3 years took their toll, and it was here that I met George Rippon:
George is hidden, 2nd in from the right on this image.
Losing my hair had never crossed my mind, I had a mane equal to that of the mighty Simba, however as I recall, my very first convsersation with George went along these lines:
DEM: "You're a big lad. Do you work out?"
GR: "A little. I used to have hair like yours. You're looking at the future."
Nothing to worry about. Just because he was bald didn't mean that he had some kind of special gift, enabling him to predict new members to the Brotherhood of Baldies.
Those of you who have come to know me lately perhaps didn't feel it appropriate to mention that I was falling prey to the combover.
And so George had been right 6 years ago.
Yesterday I did 2 things.
1) I acquired a new 'hair hero'
2) I cut my hair. Grade 3 all over.
Time to admit defeat.
So George and Igor, you can both stop sending me invitations to the Belgravia Clinic, and news cuttings about the latest medicines uncovered in the rain forest.
El Sluge
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