With age comes wisdom. Unfortunately this is usually accompanied by forgetfulness, hair loss and a weak bladder. There also comes a softening of opinions. In my strident, ever-so-sure-of-myself youth, I'd bark endless opinions on everything I knew nothing about. Of course, the older I've become the only thing I have actually learned is how little I really know. The world is not black and white - it's a thousand subtle shades of grey. One of my pet rants was cosmetic surgery. Oh the vanity of it! The money wasted by insecure middle aged egomaniacs trying to stave off the inevitable decrepitude. "Grow old gracefully," was my plea, "eventually it will catch up with you anyway so spend your time learning to love yoursel. Focus on your inner beauty!"
That was all well and good when I was 22 with smooth, tight skin and a hair line. At 41 with crows feet and a forehead like a cheese grater I'm beginning to have second thoughts.
I keep going to the mirror and pulling the skin on my face back. Ten years gone, just like that!
I did consider a hair transplant once. I remember telling my hairdresser, "Don't let me be one of those guys that goes on too long trying to hide his receding hairline. Please tell me when I need to shave it all off." His eyes passed from mine to my head and back again, "You need to shave it off," he said. I was in the mood so told him to get on with it. I thought I'd come out oozing masculinity like Bruce Willis in Die Hard 14 but actually looked more like an extra from Schindler's List.
Now I'm used to be bald and I actually like not having to brush, style and titivate. I love trimming it myself and knowing I've saved another £30. In fact in the last 10 years I've probably saved about £6000 which, come to think of it, would go a long way towards a face lift. In effect my face lift would be free. Thank you head, my face is indebted to you.
Of course I could all go wrong. I don't want to go mad like Joan Rivers or Diane Keaton. Go to Madame Tussauds and see how Diane Keaton’s wax work looks more human than she does. The trick is to not get carried away. I want people to see me afterwards and say, "Ooh, you look well!" not, "Holy crap what happened to your face!"
So what do you think? Grow old gracefully, confident that it's inner beauty that counts, or succumb to vanity and pay £6000 for a surgeon to give me two black eyes and stretch my face over my ears?