My Green Surrogate Hair

Sporting a hairstyle which, from the front, mimics the swooping contours of the line on a tennis ball, and which from the top resembles one of those crop circles that so enthralled Reg Presley in the ‘90s, I can safely conclude that my halcyon days of grooming are unfortunately behind me. Much like the hair itself in fact – peppering the ground of yesteryear like loose grass cuttings (which is ironic, given that the effort I once put into combing my tresses has subliminally found output in the treatment of our lawn).

I take great delight in mowing the grass into neat rows, carefully strimming the edges and making it generally presentable. Such efforts (albeit on the much smaller scale of my head and using a variety of implements which didn’t include a Flymo 2000) were previously reserved for the follicular topiary atop my cranium, though the feeling is essentially the same on viewing the fruits of my labour.

In the back of my mind though, I’m all too aware that, come the winter, it too will wither and die. But even then, I know a springtime resurrection bursting with life and verdancy is only a season away. Sadly, the flowing locks that once crowned my strange-shaped head will forever remain but a distant memory.