A quarter of a century ago I read an article on male hair loss (a great fear of mine) and some figures therein stuck in my mind. According to the author:
One male in five starts to lose his hair before the age of twenty.
One male in two starts to lose his hair before the age of thirty.
If a man still has a full head of hair at forty he almost certainly will not go bald.

I was pleased to read this, being forty-five at the time and still in possession of my barnet, but with me there's always a nagging doubt ("knowing my luck ...", etc.).
Another snippet of information on the subject - almost an obsession with me - was a statement by a trichologist made during a television programme on the subject. If you want to know whether or not you'll go bald, he said, don't look at your father, look at your mother's brother(s). His hair will be your hair.
This too was reassuring; my father had begun to lose his luxuriant black curls around the age of thirty. Though he never became completely bald, the few wisps on the top of his head amounted to pretty much the same thing for us, his sons.
My mother's only brother, on the other hand had hair so thick that it had to be kept cropped in order for him to look civilised. His hair went grey at an early age, which seems to me to be a common trait among Irish males, but he retained that wiry crop until his death at circa seventy years of age.
Looking good for the brothers and me then. At fifty still OK, at sixty too. At sixty-five no problem, but today - horror of horrors! - the curse of calvity has fallen upon my bowed head. I'm combing miniature birds' nests out every time I groom. The hair has visibly receeded from my forehead, though the term "baldness" doesn't really apply as yet. But the hair atop my skull is thinning. I keep inspecting my scalp for visible bald patches. None so far, but I'm sure it's only a matter of time.
I pray that this attrition will come to a stop. Or I would if I knew of a deity or a saint to whom to address my whining prayers. There's almost certain to be a patron saint of hair.
But then, since when did I believe in the efficacy of prayer, or an afterlife stuffed with indulgent spirits waiting to answer my petitions?
Why should I care at my age and in my physical condition, about losing my hair? Well I'm such an ugly specimen of humanity, that any form of covering is welcome , and any further exposure of my person to the public gaze will erode my self regard even further. I'm going to make a pitiful looking corpse.