I WAS hunting high and low for a picture of myself as a baby the other day when I suddenly remembered my dad's Christmas gift to each of his four children from a few years ago.

Rather touchingly, he'd trawled through the family photos - these were kept in empty Cadbury's Roses tins from Christmases past - and put together separate albums tracking our individual lives from the cradle to middle age.

Sadly, it tells a troubling tale.

I was a very good-looking toddler who went downhill fast.

In fact, the album shows that my life has been dominated by spectacularly ill-advised haircuts.

I have to blame mum and dad for those in the early years - especially the crew cut at the age of 11 which made me look like Smiffy from the Bash Street Kids - but even into my late teens, I was sporting startling hairstyles which ensured I held on very tightly to my virginity for many years.

As you can see here, whereas other unfortunate kids had a pudding basin shoved on their heads, my dad must have found an old German helmet for the hairdresser to cut round.

And what on earth was I thinking of when I got the perm? Actually, I was thinking Kevin Keegan but when the curls grew out, I looked like the ugly one from On The Buses.

The woman, I mean, not the bloke.

These days, I spend £35 having my hair done every eight weeks and, before you ask, this impressive outlay does not entitle me to take home one of the chairs, boxes full of free shampoo or the young lady who washed my hair.

One day, my greying hair will fall out and I will have the high forehead look for the rest of my life.

Or perhaps the Keegan look will return and we can all get away with having a small poodle attached to the tops of our heads...

First published: Sept 6