A Look Into Why I Need to Use Wet Look Gel with Ian McShane
Ian McShane here.
When the good people of Hobo Bonobo asked me to write an article in their prestigious, ‘Look Into' section, I knew I'd hit the big time. And as they promised to give me my cat back afterwards, I was inspired to start writing straight away and to get little Tim back home and safe into my more than ample head of hair.
I'm sure you all know who I am by now, but despite my many follies I'm still most famous as tv's Lovejoy. If you don't remember Lovejoy, it was like Boon, only with antiques.
That should set thing straight now, but if it doesn't, here are a few tips I carry around in a small book to make sure I'm me.
a, I'm not Mike McShane - he's a big fella more popularly known for improvising hoedowns on tv's ‘Who's Line is it Anyway‘. However I did once take his hair and add it to my own lush thicket.
b, I'm also not Ian McKellan - he's an actor popular for playing the part of Robert Guillaume who played a character called Benson in the itv2 period drama, ‘The Fresh Prince of Bell End'.
If that still doesn't set things straight, I also hand out cards with this information on one side and a lock of my own ample home grown hair shreddies sellotaped to the other.
And so, on with the story.
As a youth I got a part time job in a hairdressing salon sweeping up and discarding floor hair in a hygienic fashion. Over time the salon became increasingly popular until they reached maximum capacity and were giving over 1.6 million haircuts a day. Alas and inevitably there came a day when the bin could take no more hair. Everybody needed results, and fast; and in true British tradition, the responsibility was passed down the chain until it could be passed no further and ended up in the hands of a little freckled faced ginger headed kid that was me. Unfortunately the sheer amount of pressure got too much; pony tails, excessive mutton chops and the poodle perm wouldn't be popular for another four years; and I had started loosing my own hair over the stress, not to mention my freckles which had by now become dark rugged lines so deep sunlight couldn't reach the bottom.
I was in an awful state; bald and about to lose my job. Then one night whilst asleep and in a fashion not dissimilar to a superhero film, I found myself stood over the bin of hair wearing nothing but a hair suit, staring into it's very soul; until, like a flash, a hairy hand and arm reached out from the murky depths of the bin and slapped it's hand on my head. Petrified, I stood there quivering like a garden gnome who's just caught a glimpse of a Suffolk Punch, (the king of lawnmowers) heading it's way. It was then that the bin spoke to me in it's booming voice, subtlety reminiscent to one of the bbc's approved current comedians. To this day I can't recall exactly what it said; but it spoke something mildly amusing and then proceeded to explain the joke and offer a visual representation of it in case I still hadn't, ‘got it'.
The next morning I got to work believing this to be a dream; but the bin was empty and it seemed all the hair in it had transferred itself on to my head giving me what's known by hairdressers today as the dark thicket of thatched glory; and every spring, many pilgrims come and visit the thicket to offer it their own hair as a sacrifice to it‘s splendour, not realising with every year that passes it grows bigger and darker until one day it will consume all light and plunge the world into perpetual twilight; and that my friends it why I need the wet look gel to tame the beast.
Now, back to the hoedown.
I'll need a place ?
The houses of parliament
A scenario ?
Massive corruption in the government and a country at melting point
An object ?
Madame la guillotine
And a person ‘s?
Nothing written on this site is intended to be true or factual, and none of the celebrities named in the 'Look Into' section have anything to do with this website. Their 'contributions' are entirely fictional and have been created by the authors of Hobo-Bonobo. The opinions expressed on Hobo-Bonobo.co.uk are not those of anyone, particularly not the people to whom they have been accredited.