Felt Cute

 

Got my hair cut. My barber does good work. There's not even any product in there, that's what my hair does, when it's cut shorter. I've subsequently shaved, so I look even more youthful than this. I know. 

"In vain the sad Narcissus, wan and white,"

My brother sent me a picture of John Hendy, a former member of East 17. Hendy is one day younger than me and was a genuine pop star back in the day. He didn't actually do anything as a pop star. If you recall East 17, there was Tony who wrote the songs and did the rapping, and Brian who wore wide clothes, big hats and did all the singing, and came a cropper after too many potatoes. And then there was John and Terry. They had goatees and struck a series of poses in puffa jackets. Somehow, that was briefly lucrative. That was a career. 

John now has the word faith tattooed on his bald head. He has a tear-shaped tattoo under one eye. Does that mean he killed someone in prison? He looks like he's been attacked by a fork wielding maniac and still has a beard, like a vertical eyebrow, but it is white against his cracked, red face. 

I was going to slag him off, because he was once famous and I never have been, so it still feels like I'm still punching up. But I made the mistake of looking at his Instagram page, and saw him duetting with his daughter on a trampoline, and I don't want to slag him off any more. He's a jobbing roofer playing with his kid. I have no beef with that. Unless he was roofing near me at seven in the morning. Because that shit does go down.   

Anyway, my hair looks good. It's down hill all the way from my hairline. But I've been lucky with the mane. Am I your mane man? Am I now, am I now?