Hair today, gone tomorrow

One of the signs of increasing age used to be that the policemen look younger. Since it is not so frequent to spot these elusive creatures another sign must be sought and I think I have found it. Namely, hair loss. When one has had a full mop of hair for several decades a visit to the barber provokes the consequent comment, "Oh, you've had your haircut!" Not remarkable when such visits might amount to only one or exceptionally two times a year. The difference in tonsorial distinction is quite marked. However last week I had my haircut, the previous occasion being around last October, and only one person commented, and that was my good lady when I sort of postured my hair in front of her - and I had previously told her I was going. It seems then that the considerable decrease in thatchiness has rendered it impossible to observe that any difference has been made. Which fact of course will no doubt lead to the ancient joke,"I'm going to get my hair cut." "Ok, very nice. Which one?"

Meanwhile I notice from our blog comments that Scotland seems to be a popular place - and I have to admit to some bias in the matter as the good lady is herself Scottish through and through, despite having an English father, who did make Scotland his home, and despite deigning to marry an Englishman and living in exile in England ever since. However do not fear Ken Livingstone will not venture to Sctland, he is enjoying his fun too much in London. I understand the latest wheeze is to gate the whole of London to make it greener. The mind boggles.