It’s a sad revelation when you realise that a dog’s annual beauty spend is more than his owners.
Now I like to think that I’m a reasonably clean and fragrant chap, but having more hair on my ears than on my bonce means that my hairdressing bill is miniscule.
As I’m incredibly sad, I’ve actually worked it out – it equates to three pence per haircut (the price of a pair of clippers divided by the number of haircuts over seven years).
It’s worth stating at this point that it actually looks and feels like a thruppence ‘do’.
I also have an age-old skin cleansing regime that generations of ocean-going sailors in our family have sworn by. I just use clean running water.
Every now and again (occasionally after a game of rugby or maybe at Christmas-time), I’ve been known to break out a bar of nice-smelling soap to go with the water.
If I’m going to see a client or perform a TV/radio interview, I’ll even stretch to a quick puff of aftershave or deodorant.
Clean and simple has always been my man-ifesto.
So you can imagine my shock when the first lady in the Bunker house booked our border collie, Tane, in for a doggie coiffure.
The nature of his breed (in my mind) means that he enjoys being a little grim – coat slightly matted, dreadlocked fetlocks and breath that Stig Of The Dump would be embarrassed about.
A trim and tidy border collie carries a certain amount of shame.
I reckon it’s akin to a heavyweight boxer making his way to the ring on a Shopmobility scooter wearing a lacy negligee.
No-one wants to see that. Especially me when I’m picking him up from the doggie hairdressers and she’s brandishing a bill for £35.
The dog leaves with his tail between his legs because he’s convinced that his pals down the park will be laughing at his tidy new style.
Meanwhile I’m frantically doing the maths – one dog wash/trim equates to a grand total of 1,166 DIY haircuts for me.
That’s enough for the next 22 years...a sobering thought indeed.