Those of you who have actually met me will know that I have not been blessed with the greatest hair. In fact, it is arguably the unruliest hair on the planet – not because it always looks a complete mess, but because it singlemindedly refuses to accept any style other than ‘flopped’. For several decades, it hasn’t mattered what I have tried to do with it, it just sits there, looking atrocious.
I am sure that, down the years, my hair has cost me more dates than I would care to remember. As my friend Dan Martin once put it, “Just because he’s got a stupid floppy fringe, it doesn’t mean he’s Hugh Grant”.
When I was younger, I occasionally cared about this. One day, I heard that another boy at school used soap to give his hair a great, spikey, effect. I decided to try it that weekend.
Saturday morning came, and I duly soaped my hair. No matter what I did, though, it seemed even more lifeless than ever. Disappointed, I gave up and left the bathroom.
At which point Mum took one look at me and marched me back into the bathroom to wash the shampoo out of my hair properly. I was so embarrassed at having my hair washed by my Mum – I must have been 15 at least – that I didn’t tell her what I had really been doing.
Particularly as it was only at that point that it dawned on me that I probably should have used wet soap, rather than just rubbing the dry bar on my head.