Back at my house in London and discover that the end of Fitzroy Street is disfigured by a huge blown up photograph of “cricketing legend” Shane Warne sporting a wavy, parti-coloured yellow wig. In a daze at its presumption, I venture towards this hideous excrescence. It isn’t a wig! It is indeed a hair transplant. The poor sap has been persuaded to publicize the fact. It is an advertisement on behalf of the new clinic on the corner of Fitzroy Square which has moved into a conservation area to pursue its dread trade. I suppose if you are bald and vain it affects your mental capacities. I would have expected that you would want to disguise the fact in some way, with a sporty hat or, at the least, a minimum of discretion, but Shane is clearly so enamoured of his golden tuft, no doubt extracted from some privy part of his anatomy, that he is seeking to encourage others to do the same.