Bald

It now seems that I'm going bald. My mum took this photo which gives a rather disturbing glimpse of the top of my scalp beneath my hair. This is a good photo though, it has it all: cows lick, volume, grease mongering round the sides, and now a lovely bald patch. If we'd just managed to capture some flakes of dandruff it would have been quite special.

The general consensus though is that the hair is actually getting a bit better. I've had a few nods of tentative encouragement from people. I went and saw the film Chico and Rita tonight with Jack and my friends Jess and Harry. Jess gave me her tentative nod, but only shortly before jerking her head away in complete horror when I looked over her shoulder at something. She claimed it was a joke but I'm pretty sure I saw a look of genuine revulsion in her eyes.

My friend Hanna, who knows some hippies, suggested rinsing the hair every day, and failing that, tying a 40s style headscarf on. But I really cannot be bothered to get this revolting damp/dry mass of hair wet every morning (imagine trying to blow dry a greased-up horses's tail, it's a bit like that). And my other trouble is that all the vintage shops round where I work in Covent Garden are so frickin expensive I can't bring myself to part with a fiver for a polyester square of fabric from the 90s. I will man up and do it though, now I've realised I'm a bit bald. Expertedly tied headscarf coming soon.