I am 24 and bald. Well technically just balding, but it is only a matter of time. Whilst the fringe folicals at the front line remain strong, the same cannot be said for the top centre of my increasingly exposed cranium. Think Zinidine Zidane, but without the football skills, money, model wife, well the list goes on.
So what can you do, I either attempt a Bobby Charlton style comb over, with the unique twist being that rather than sweeping the hair from left to right, I would instead be attempting some kind of mafia like front to back coverage, or shave it all off and try and make it look like it was my decision.
I chose the latter of these options.
Now there are two problems with having a shaved head. Firstly the facial features become horribly exposed, with any 'irregularities' becoming far more prominent and secondly you have to walk around permanently looking like a Nazi, or indeed one of the BNP's latest candidates.
This second flaw becomes increasingly problematic, as I have two scars on my head further inhancing my thuggish persona.
The first scar was a completely harmless affair and can be put down simply to childhood innocence and naivity, seeing as I was only ten at the time. My associates and I were at the local swimming pool and were all trying to out do each other with 'spectacular' dives and flips into the pool.
One kid did a bomb, another a backflip. Desperate to upstage them all I announced my intentions to pull off a backwards flip bomb. Yes ladies and gentleman, I was going to propel by body backwards whilst at the same time tucking my legs and arms in tightly in the classic 'bomb' stance.
As my friends looked on in anticipation I readied myself and got into position at the edge of the pool. Brimming with confidence I sprang with cat like agility and swiftly proceeded to twat my head on the iron support bar that lined the edge of the pool.
As I floated to the surface of the pool, blood streamed from my head discolouring the water around me. It was at this point that I realised that I had not quite been successful in performing this spectacular feat.
One of my friends who had managed to contain his laughter, swiftly alerted my mother to my mishap and being the good woman that she is we swiftly made our way to the hospital.
I required eight stiches in the back of my head and they did of course have to shave a substantial bald patch around the exposed area. This was not a good look for a 10 year old, it was the early 90's after all, an era where the 'step' and 'undercut' hair styles ruled supreme.
If this wasn't bad enough, to ensure that the wound did not get infected, I had to wear some sort of hair net when out in public for the next two weeks, once again this was not a good look.
Still my mother was very forgiving and although I had been a 'silly boy' for trying to pull off a stunt that I would later find out could only be performed by a trained acrobat, she was just happy that I was safe. The same could not be said for the next time she would have to take me to the hospital...aged 21.
Everyone has their 'thing' when they are drunk. Some start fights, others feel compelled to get completely naked, I for some reason liked to climb infrastucture - and I was good at it too.
Having supped upon a few sherries, I was walking down Guildford high street with two of my companions, I simply notes that I felt that it was within my capabilities to scale the local Argos and strut along the 'cat walkesque' roof. One friend claimed that he thought I could not and therefore insulted my prowess as a climber.
I instantly rose to the challenge and instructed each of them to provide me with a 'leg up', it was about 15 feet high so I knew I would require some assistance - I'm not an idiot.
So with their help I sprung up and desperatedly tried to grip the end of the ledge. Unfortunately some worthless architect has designed it with a rounded edge, making it incredibly difficult to get purchase. Desperately trying to hold on, my efforts were futile and I plummeted to the floor in a heap, much to the amusements of my friends.
My ego (and body) bruised I was not to be defeated and instructed them to assist for a second time, unfortunately with the same tragic outcome. It was not over, one of my friends was short in stature and therefore could not provide me with the required boost to reach my objective, so I cut him from the team flagged down a stranger to be his replacement.
A strapping lad, all six foot of him and with his kind assistance it would surely be third time lucky. So with the boost I scaled and dam was I close, but not close enough.
My third fall was to be the decider. On landing I had cut my right eye brow and almost certainly broken both wrists, so we went to the Kebab House.
Some Chav implored that I 'Mate, listen mate, seriously mate, I'm not joking mate, you need to go to the hospital'. This was probably the only sensible thing this man has ever said, but I was not to listen to him. It was late and I was tired from all the climbing, so instead my friends and I got a taxi home.
Being the good friends that they are they insisted on staying round my place that night in case I was concussed. Being the idiots that they are, they stayed downstairs, so even if I did pass out in my room they would not have known anything about it.
Instead the next morning, with two broken wrists I had to drive them both round to their houses...my car was a manual, this hurt a lot.
Having done this, I then had to explain to my mother why there was a gaping wound above my right eye. She knew I had been out drinking, so I thought it would be best to modify the truth and explained that the injury was a result of trying to leap frog a letter box. I thought this would be slightly less distressing than regailing how I fell trying to climb Argos, three times.
So there we were in A&E again. My mother was not so understanding on this occassion and I felt her embarassment when sitting next to me as I explaining to the nurse how the injuries occurred. Another eight stitches needed above the right eye, a fractured wrist that they put in a cast, but good news the other wrist was only sprained.
So people in the street, when you do see me, there is no need for concern I am simply a balding idiot and the only person who I pose a threat to is myself.
So what can you do, I either attempt a Bobby Charlton style comb over, with the unique twist being that rather than sweeping the hair from left to right, I would instead be attempting some kind of mafia like front to back coverage, or shave it all off and try and make it look like it was my decision.
I chose the latter of these options.
Now there are two problems with having a shaved head. Firstly the facial features become horribly exposed, with any 'irregularities' becoming far more prominent and secondly you have to walk around permanently looking like a Nazi, or indeed one of the BNP's latest candidates.
This second flaw becomes increasingly problematic, as I have two scars on my head further inhancing my thuggish persona.
The first scar was a completely harmless affair and can be put down simply to childhood innocence and naivity, seeing as I was only ten at the time. My associates and I were at the local swimming pool and were all trying to out do each other with 'spectacular' dives and flips into the pool.
One kid did a bomb, another a backflip. Desperate to upstage them all I announced my intentions to pull off a backwards flip bomb. Yes ladies and gentleman, I was going to propel by body backwards whilst at the same time tucking my legs and arms in tightly in the classic 'bomb' stance.
As my friends looked on in anticipation I readied myself and got into position at the edge of the pool. Brimming with confidence I sprang with cat like agility and swiftly proceeded to twat my head on the iron support bar that lined the edge of the pool.
As I floated to the surface of the pool, blood streamed from my head discolouring the water around me. It was at this point that I realised that I had not quite been successful in performing this spectacular feat.
One of my friends who had managed to contain his laughter, swiftly alerted my mother to my mishap and being the good woman that she is we swiftly made our way to the hospital.
I required eight stiches in the back of my head and they did of course have to shave a substantial bald patch around the exposed area. This was not a good look for a 10 year old, it was the early 90's after all, an era where the 'step' and 'undercut' hair styles ruled supreme.
If this wasn't bad enough, to ensure that the wound did not get infected, I had to wear some sort of hair net when out in public for the next two weeks, once again this was not a good look.
Still my mother was very forgiving and although I had been a 'silly boy' for trying to pull off a stunt that I would later find out could only be performed by a trained acrobat, she was just happy that I was safe. The same could not be said for the next time she would have to take me to the hospital...aged 21.
Everyone has their 'thing' when they are drunk. Some start fights, others feel compelled to get completely naked, I for some reason liked to climb infrastucture - and I was good at it too.
Having supped upon a few sherries, I was walking down Guildford high street with two of my companions, I simply notes that I felt that it was within my capabilities to scale the local Argos and strut along the 'cat walkesque' roof. One friend claimed that he thought I could not and therefore insulted my prowess as a climber.
I instantly rose to the challenge and instructed each of them to provide me with a 'leg up', it was about 15 feet high so I knew I would require some assistance - I'm not an idiot.
So with their help I sprung up and desperatedly tried to grip the end of the ledge. Unfortunately some worthless architect has designed it with a rounded edge, making it incredibly difficult to get purchase. Desperately trying to hold on, my efforts were futile and I plummeted to the floor in a heap, much to the amusements of my friends.
My ego (and body) bruised I was not to be defeated and instructed them to assist for a second time, unfortunately with the same tragic outcome. It was not over, one of my friends was short in stature and therefore could not provide me with the required boost to reach my objective, so I cut him from the team flagged down a stranger to be his replacement.
A strapping lad, all six foot of him and with his kind assistance it would surely be third time lucky. So with the boost I scaled and dam was I close, but not close enough.
My third fall was to be the decider. On landing I had cut my right eye brow and almost certainly broken both wrists, so we went to the Kebab House.
Some Chav implored that I 'Mate, listen mate, seriously mate, I'm not joking mate, you need to go to the hospital'. This was probably the only sensible thing this man has ever said, but I was not to listen to him. It was late and I was tired from all the climbing, so instead my friends and I got a taxi home.
Being the good friends that they are they insisted on staying round my place that night in case I was concussed. Being the idiots that they are, they stayed downstairs, so even if I did pass out in my room they would not have known anything about it.
Instead the next morning, with two broken wrists I had to drive them both round to their houses...my car was a manual, this hurt a lot.
Having done this, I then had to explain to my mother why there was a gaping wound above my right eye. She knew I had been out drinking, so I thought it would be best to modify the truth and explained that the injury was a result of trying to leap frog a letter box. I thought this would be slightly less distressing than regailing how I fell trying to climb Argos, three times.
So there we were in A&E again. My mother was not so understanding on this occassion and I felt her embarassment when sitting next to me as I explaining to the nurse how the injuries occurred. Another eight stitches needed above the right eye, a fractured wrist that they put in a cast, but good news the other wrist was only sprained.
So people in the street, when you do see me, there is no need for concern I am simply a balding idiot and the only person who I pose a threat to is myself.
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