Every month Dr Cleetus Hose, renowned relationship and sexual health guru shares his advice for Americana UK readers.
Dear Dr Cleetus,
I have long been a fan of Americana music and all the things that go with it – a penchant for plaid, sippin’ whiskey rather than Scotch, the occasional dungaree, wearing worn band T-shirts on inappropriate occasions, perhaps talking about music for much longer than is sociable or indeed acceptable but there is one thing that cannot do, and it is beginning to become more than just a bit of a worry. Every time I go to a gig, usually in the arse of beyond in a room no bigger than my local Nisa, I am completely overwhelmed by a sense of not fitting in. For sure I am wearing my best plaid shirt, perhaps even a sexy pair of faded denim jeans with a leather belt and eagle buckle, I might even be wearing a splash of Nashville Fancy (the gentleman’s cologne), but I still don’t fit in. I scan my fellow audience members with a sinking heart – every single one of them has advanced male pattern baldness. Whereas I… I have a barnet that could be used for thatching medieval homesteads.
The glint from their bonces creating patterns on the ceiling was a dagger to the follicles. It has got to the point where I walked out the last gig, tears burning my cheeks. I went home and vowed to fix this. My first attempt was combining a close shave with a hefty spray of Cillit Bang to burn the remaining stubble – a scorched earth policy seemed wise. Within 2 days my stout pelt was returning. Next, I consulted a local herbalist who recommended rubbing badger droppings liberally over my scalp and eating the spoor of goats. All this did was completely ruin my bedding and made my breath so foul that the public library barred my entry and my dentist moved away a broken man. And again, after 2 days my tufts were erect again. I wondered if Darren Gough would like my hair and perhaps his surgeon could reverse engineer the operation making it a direct transplant, but my letters went unanswered; although I did receive a parcel postmarked Yorkshire that just contained a picture of Gary Glitter. I am at my wit’s end, I so desperately want to fit in but I am just too hairy on top to feel part of the ‘club’ – it’s ironic really, as downstairs it’s like a barren scrubland but that could be because of the crabs, I’m not sure. Can you help? Best regards,
Drayton Parslow, 34 Moist Close, Goole.
Dr Cleetus writes: Drayton, it is natural to want to fit in, particularly in a social situation, but in this instance, I would suggest that the purchase of a prosthetic may be your only answer as we baldies can spot a wrong’un at twenty paces. I can recommend a couple of them; both the Savalas and the Brynner are good, but I would avoid the Goodhew (too tight around the cerebellum it would lead to bug eyes and eventual ostrification and probably blindness). Ask at your local pharmacy but I advise asking very quietly to avoid embarrassment. You may also want to enquire as to medication for your…ahem… barren scrubland.
