Could this be a precious lock of my truelove’s hair, kept inside a locket worn around my neck, a keepsake of our fervent union pressed tenderly against my fragile, fluttering heart for all eternity? Nope, I fished this little lot out the plughole this morning. They’re my hairs. By all rights they should still be on my head. That’s where they were when I got in the shower, but by the time I got out, they’d jumped ship. I haven’t counted them yet, but it’s a good old clump; more than an Action Man’s handful. At the very least a Bobby Charlton combover’s worth of hair. And this is from just one shower. If I carry on at this rate I’ll be able to re-thatch Right Said Fred before the year’s out. But why is my barnet doing a bunk? Naturally I’m keen to get to, ahem, the root of the problem. Is it a side effect of one of the drugs I’m taking, for instance? And if so, which one? The way I’m golliping down pills it’s hard to isolate a particular side effect and attribute it to any one drug. One thing I have noticed though, is since I started losing the hair on my head I’ve started growing it on my cheekbones. You may laugh at the irony of my predicament, but spare a thought for me. I’m the one who is going to have to go through life with the face of Teen Wolf and the head of Kojak.