Pam Ayres with Stubble

I've just had a haircut

...and for the first time in ages I look fairly normal and presentable as someone who wouldn't be pointed and laughed at in the street. It won't last.

My hair has always been a constant source of embarrassment for me. It is 'Uninteresting Brown' and straight and thick and dull and I've never been able to do anything remotely good or interesting or stylish with it. I am a 70s child and it hasn't really changed much from the pudding bowl haircut I sported when I was 5. I don't have any photographs of me as a child but imagine a bucktoothed, flared-nostrilled little geek with a pathetic, sad eyed expression, a Beatles haircut, a Scooby Doo T-shirt, grey school trousers and inexplicably, a pair of ladies fluffy slippers.

By the time of Secondary school when other children had become fashion-conscious, I tried to change my appearance by giving myself a centre parting. It was proper overgrown 80s hair and I was dubbed 'Heart-Head' Not the worst insult ever, thankfully, because everyone at my school was as thick as shit.

Over the years I have tended to think of my hairstyle as:

The 'Dougal' Look. (from The Magic Roundabout)

Two haystacks trying to mate.

Geoffrey from Rainbow's irritating little brother.

PamAyres/PurdeyfromAvengers/Blackadderseries1

OR - Sticking my head into a Cloud of Shit.

The alternative- me having close-cropped 'Skinhead' hair is far too hideous to contemplate and it would probably only draw attention to my moon face, pig snout, deep set Neanderthal eyes and freakishly long forehead.

Hair is horrible, hideous, embarrassing stuff. Not just head hair, of course. At school I was an an early developer and the double whammy of being crap at PE coupled with having to wear tiny flimsy white shorts which showed off my hairy 'Gorilla Legs' marked me down as being an outsider from the start.

I hated it - it was taking over my body and I wanted it to stop. I would trim my armpit hair, pubic hair and take a disposable razor and wet-shave the hairs growing everywhere else. The itchiness of my arse-hair regrowing back- thicker and hairier than before is something I'll never forget. And so the hair carried on, spreading like an unstoppable deadly fungus from a B-Movie.... up across my stomach, sprouting out from my chest... creeping over the shoulders... (Mercifully so far stopping short of taking over my back, thank goodness).

I fucking hate having to shave. I'm sure I would sooner have periods. I am VERY VERY stubbly, with thick black chin hair like cables. I could grow a 5 o clock shadow by about noon. It hurts, even with an electric shaver. Especially around the neck. Many a time I've had a Half Shave- worn out by the pain of trying the shave my face that I've had to stop- and I've left the neck hair for an hour or so like some Hair Scarf. If Hair Scarves ever caught on, I could grow a pretty thick one in about 3 days. I blame it on having far too much testicleosterone or whatever it's called.

Why can't your body get the message that just like yesterday and the day before that and the day before that and the day before that... I DON'T WANT A HAIRY FACE! STOP IT! MAKE IT GO AWAY! Make some more muscle or blood cells or a penis extension or something more useful FFS. I'd like to point out that I don't want any nose hair or ear hair or whacking great eyebrows, either, before it gets any ideas.

And now, since last year, I have a whole New Hair Embarrassment. It all started when I had my chest shaved as part of a series of tests before I had a foot operation. The nurse shaved a big crop circle on my chest- which looked silly enough whilst it was bare flesh- but then it began to grow back WHITE . 'Oh great' I thought 'I'm turning into a Polar Bear' ... but now the white hair has began to spread....

...and I now have white hair from my shoulders to my nipples and black hair all the way down from there. Naked, I looking like a fucking Pint of Guinness. : (

The Man Behind the Duck.

For those of you wanting to know a little more about me, my old f... someone I know, Tim Youster has been hard at w... spent a few minutes writing my Who's Who entry (Not really - he wrote this on Facebook and I've shamelessly nicked it - but I do think it gives a bit of an insight into The Man Behind the Duck and might answer a few of your questions).

'Karl is a 68 year old, one armed Armenian. His hobbies include scaling electrical pylons with his tongue and white water rafting inside hollowed out Republicans. His favourite colour is Pubic Orange and he lives just beyond the rainbow in a derelict Woolworths, where he wallows away his time by crafting faux-antique My Little Ponies and giving them all ludicrous life stories.'

Er. Thanks Tim. Might need a little tweaking and a couple of facts putting in here and there but it's a good start. Oh, and my favourite colour is 'Whore's Foundation Orange' and has been for AGES. FFS.

New Dad Burblings

Eurrrrgh....

I was up till 5.00am again yesterday.

Tell somebody that and they instantly think you've been out drinking and partying but no . I have a tiny person to deal with(that's a baby, BTW, I'm not looking after a dwarf ). Despite having his jabs today he seemed as full of life and smiles and pee and puke as ever. I hope that tonight will be the more usual 2.30 or 3 O'clock bedtime. I need to be quicker with the nappy changing - last night's Piss Fountain was pretty impressive. The nappies where it looks like he's sitting in a pool of Piccalilli always seem to happen on my shift, too.

Everything about looking after babies is wet and messy and/or painful - from plunging your hands into the freezing cold bleach tank that is the sterilisation unit ( to rinse the bottles) to squirting boiling hot milk over your wrists to test the temperature. His little fingernails are now razor sharp when they dig into your arm- I'm just glad I'm not breastfeeding and he's not clawing at my tits! He likes trying to stand up-on my lap. This results in him trampling on my bollocks as though they were grapes (I do let out a bit of a 'whine ').

It's incredible how happy and animated he can be at Cunt O'clock in the morning. Staring, smiling, gurgling & dribbling can all go on for HOURS. The little rubber plant on the mantelpiece is endlessly fascinating to him. He does fall asleep eventually of course, but try to stick him down in a cot (rather than asleep on somebody) and his eyes flick open immediately and he's as alert as a mini ninja assassin. I am not 'Dad' yet, but I am definitely 'Bed'. I have that dishevelled, unshaven New Dad look down pat - even the shoulders of all my tops & T-shirts have the tell-tale milky stains (make your own jokes).

But I wouldn't change it for the world.... after losing a son, it is nice to finally be holding a living breathing baby boy again... even if he IS fecking nocturnal.