I'll probably regret it in the morning, but I have just run the clippers over my pate and cut my beard back to a goatee.

It all took longer than it should; I think I shall have to dismantle the clippers for a good clean and oil before I use them next time. Or maybe buy a new set. They seem to need stripping down more and more frequently these days and I fear that the motor is probably not as strong as it once was. The reason I think I might buy a spare set is that I have a horror of the damned things packing up completely while I am part way through trimming my hair, so at best I should have to go out with a reverse Mohican, and at worst look like someone suffering from radiation sickness.

I like to think that I am no more than normally vain, but I do have some pride (and an astonishingly low embarrassment threshold in certain circumstances).

My first hair trim of the year is usually the signal for a bout of cold weather, but like the timing of the full moon, I cannot control the rate of hair growth, so sometimes I shaves me bonce earlier than I'd like. So like Punxsutawney Phil, I predict a further six weeks of winter.

Odd that my usually infallible right ankle didn't predict today's bout of cold rain, though. Make of that what you will.