I have hair, big hair. My Grandmother used to call me the Wild Woman of Borneo because of its sheer size and rampant nature. Its ability to grow sideways as well as down accelerated in my teens during my David Cassidy period when long bunches were de rigeur. In retrospect, I suppose I should have used a brush occasionally but when I did I had a habit of snapping the handle (I did the same to tooth brushes – an over-developed bicep perhaps). I remember getting so tangled in the Forest of Dean when I was thirteen, that my dad had to sort me out with a razor blade. Recently, I’ve developed an itch. Dirk has had a good look. Picking me over like a desperate monkey at a Simian social, he’s examined me for foreign bodies. No nits, no mice, no nesting birds; not even a scabby scalp. I’m desperately hoping my affliction doesn’t travel south and invade my lady garden. �