So, scientists have now identified the gene that defines whether we are going to have grey hair, curly hair or, indeed, no hair at all.

As a follicly challenged male, I could really have done with this information much earlier in my life so that I could make plans.

I remember a conversation I had with my mother at a time when, to quote Harry Hill, I realised that every day it was taking longer to wash my face as my hairline receded.

“You don’t mind losing your hair, do you love?” Mum asked.

“Well mother, I would have preferred to have had a choice!” I observed.

My family, who are generally a fair haired, hirsute group, were not particularly sympathetic. My sister described my situation as a case of ‘over production, but poor distribution’ whilst my big brother, who, even in his seventies, sports a full head of curly, blond(ish) hair, questioned whether my hair loss was the result of a hefty blow to the head from a monkey wrench when I was around four years old. This explanation is probably more acceptable than the proposition that I am actually adopted given the fact that I am also shorter and stockier than any of my siblings.

The warning signs came relatively early in my life. Initially, at the age of around eighteen, my hairdresser (let me be frank, this guy was a barber in Brixton market) announced that he had spotted a grey streak at my temple.

“Makes you look distinguished, man!” he encouraged.

As was normal in the mid-sixties, I compensated for my thinning hair by growing it to shoulder length, adopting a windswept and mysterious image, the sort of image that evoked such questions as “Have you combed your hair today?” and “Why do you look so scruffy?”

With the inevitability of Canute trying to resist the tide I stood helpless in front of my bathroom mirror as I watched my hair recede and turn grey at around the same pace. Life prepares one for the loss of hair but the first sight of a greying pubic hair is traumatic to say the least. It brings into question whether I am simultaneously losing my vigour as a man at the same time. The impact can be quite sobering for a time. Is hair linked to strength as in the fable of Samson? Is there an, as yet undefined, correlation between grey hair and lack of libido?

As these questions and many others roll through my consciousness, nature plays its final ace, to further deplete my waning self-confidence. Suddenly I appear to have a spurt of hair growth. At first base, this might seem grounds for relief and celebration but this cannot be further from the actual reaction because this hair seems to be like fuse wire and growing in all the wrong places.

Initially I noticed my eyebrows forming a wire wool configuration on my now-naked forehead, sending out antennae in all directions as if seeking communication from some extra-terrestrial lifeform.

Very soon my nostrils were following suit, as were my ears. Eventually hair was sprouting from the top of my nose which, when caught in the summer sun would serve as a major distraction when driving as well as creating a minor tic as I crossed my eyes and twitched my nose in order to locate specifically the offending follicle.

Finally, as if to pour Just for Men onto my already vulnerable state, I detected the odd jet black hair standing out like a raven in the most inappropriate orifice. A dark hair amongst the grey in an ear seems to be saying “This is what you could have been if only you had not had a genetic malfunction!”

So, although it may be too late for me, I am delighted that, in the future, men will be prepared for the transformation that may befall them in later life. And, as I sit in my Home for The Bewildered plaiting my eyebrows, I trust that someone more fortunate than I will have enough respect for me to remove the raven developing on the bridge of my nose.