Being blonde.

The best way to make yourself unrecognisable, according to Ian Fleming in Moonraker, is to shave your head and grow a big moustache.

As the proud owner of a goatee set, I already have the tash.
Maybe to encourage weight loss, or because a change was needed, I shaved my head.

The idea was I would measure my progress in line with my follicular development, and keep cooler when out and about. Well, it has been warm recently, with sunny skies, walks to do and exercise to sweat through. Short, or no, hair means I'm less conscious of sweating me pods off, and I can remain fairly incognito.

Or I would, if not for my sunburnt shoulders, and what that meant.

See, when you get a tan, the white bits are usually, legs, feet and bikini areas. Get a tan, THEN shave your head, and you end up looking like Tor Johnson's younger brother, or a Manga villain meets Cockney mechanic, Minty the Killer, or somesuch. White skin, dark stubble looks blonde gunmetal, spesh against a bronzey skin.

I'd blame the booze, but I needed a drink afterwards, and sunstroke has yet to occur.
I, for the time it takes to colour my nut, am unofficially dark haired yet blonde and, officially, scarey looking.

Maybe that's why I deleted all the numbers in BOTH my mobiles instead of coping them onto the one SIM card.