The perils of slipping plates.
I TRY not to be a vain man.
I do, of course, like to be clean and presentable, but male grooming, with all those fancy moisturising creams and lotions? Clearly nature has been kind to me, so just pass me the razor, the pit spray and the Imperial Leather.
However, a couple of weeks ago, the picture at the bottom left of this page gave me the red-faced appearance of one of Roald Dahl's oompa-loompas. It was most disturbing.
Then last week, not only did my main, purple-jumpered image have my eyes wandering alarmingly skyward, but the bottom left photo was even more crimson-hued than the week before. I looked like Mr Punch after a sauna.
Even more red-faced than I appeared in the paper, I stormed over to the sub-editors, demanding answers.
We've had the odd issue before, largely involving my jumper losing its impressive purpleness. But never had I looked like I'd been over-exposed to radiation.
They blamed it on slipping plates (yes, that old chestnut) but it shouldn't happen again.
So as long as I'm back to looking like an evangelist this week, or 1980s icon Max Headrooom, I'll be happy.
Spot the difference... me, and Mr Punch