Halfway through I started to feel air on my scalp once more and with the renewed acquaintance of head and atmosphere, a new connection with the wisdom of the cosmos – what the fuck did I look like? An involuntary grin spread across my chops as I felt the total relief from the escape from looking-like-a-twat-and trying-to-justify-it-dom spread throughout my ravaged soul. However,as with any decision I make, my tiny mind made a token effort at turmoil. Part of me felt like the whole of the last follicularly-indulgant fifteen months was a complete pretence: an experiment with denial and manipulation of my self-image; but the rest was swinging between feeling smugly self congratulatory over the brave journey into the unknown I took despite the sniggers of little girls, and regretful that I hadn’t the balls to carry on. Still, whatever else I or others think, I can now say “shut it you slag” with conviction, and my eyes will be bloodshot from drink and lack of sleep rather than a Dougal fringe blowing in them thirty times a minute. I must leave you now, however, as I’ve just seen some dodgy lookin’ geezer marfin’ off in my manor. Oi! Shut it!