I have always been perplexed by those who succumb to the temptation to employ the more glaringly obvious artificial means to conceal the effects of the passage of years.

We have all seen them the ill-fitting toupee, make-up applied in amounts more usually employed by plasterers but with none of that tradesman's skill, dyed black hair perched on top of a face that belies its lustre and skin stretched impossibly tightly as a result of surgical intervention. And, of course, if you notice it, then the time and money spent is largely wasted.

I vowed I would never make the mistake of attempting to hold back the tide of time by cosmetic means. The natural look for me!

However

This week I visited a local store that gives out coupons redeemable by schools for books. A worthy initiative, indeed. As I paid, the young cashier, (and I use the word "young" here with a slight curl to my lip) offered me one, asking, "Are you collecting these for your grandchildren?" I replied, I must confess with some asperity, that I was, in fact, collecting them for my children, all of whom were of school age. There was a pause as the girl mentally flicked through the customer relations handbook and the options available. Then "Oh, it's just that the last customer was collecting them for her grandchildren and I just automatically thought that.." She trailed off. " I looked of a similar age?"

I finished the sentence for her with what I hoped was a tolerant smile on my face. Behind me, in the queue, some sympathetic eyes were raised to heaven in unspoken sympathy for the blow that had been dealt to my (clearly inaccurate) self-image of a typical father of teenage and younger daughters.

On returning home, I cheerily suggested that I might think about having a few lowlights in my hair to gradually restore it to the colour it was before the advent of early greyness. My wife was as enthusiastic as I would be if my children contemplated piercing their tongues and tattooing "I love Darius" across their foreheads.

My daughters were less appalled, but then I have seen what they consider to be tasteful and acceptable in the way of adornment.

I think it is the fact that I would suddenly, albeit gradually, nudge back towards my former mousiness, that opens up the potential for third parties to derive amusement from the old stag trying to polish up his antlers.

There are doubtless many of my acquaintance who have resisted the onset of the visible signs of ageing by not allowing them to be seen in the first place. I shall be scrutinising the youthful hair of many of my contemporaries over the next few weeks. Be warned.

And there is also the professional aspect of all this. Arguably, a subtle regaining of lost ground might prevent that look of surprise on the face of casting directors and producers when they realise that that golden haired youth of my Doctor Who days has evolved into something decidedly other.

And that can be my excuse. "Of course, I wouldn't do it if it were not for professional reasons but I have to for my work you know!"

So if you see your low-lighted columnist, with twisted silver foil in his hair, having a facial scrub or jogging by dawn's early light, be kind.