Harper's Conundrum

Just for full discloser up front. My friend has subscribed to me on here to support me which is amazing. In a true show of friendship, I have written this short, obviously completely true biography, just for the simply pleasure of winding him up :)

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Once upon a rainy Tuesday in Bolton, there lived a man known far and wide as Stunning Ste. He was the kind of handsome that made birds forget to fly and buses miss their stops. With a glint in his eye and hair so perfect it could stop traffic, Ste wasn’t just a local legend, he was an international heartthrob.

Women adored him. But none more so than foreign ladies, especially the wild ones from South Africa.

They came in droves. Johannesburg, Cape Town, Hull, it didn’t matter. All manner of women made pilgrimages to Bolton just to get a selfie with him outside of Greggs.

And life was good.

That is… until Ste discovered Coca-Cola. It started as a casual affair, a refreshing tipple on a hot day. But Coke (like the South African beauties) was a temptress. She fizzed her way into his life, and soon Ste was downing six cans a day before going onto the harder stuff.... the bottles. Then came the doughnuts. Glazed, powdered, jam-filled, he loved them all. He was often found at the local Lidl bakery with eyes wide, sugar on his lips, demanding “just one more.”

The transformation began slowly.

First, his hair started retreating like the French army with thick dirty blonde locks giving way to a bald patch that grew daily. The fans said it was “distinguished.” But then, things got worse.

His teeth, once as straight and solid as his muscles, began to fall out at random. One during a wink at a Scottish woman, another mid-conversation and a molar during a particularly passionate rendition of a Green Day song during a karaoke session in The Starkie Arms.

Still, he might have kept some of his allure, until the nose hairs came.

What began as a subtle sprouting became a full-blown crisis. Dull grey strands uncurled from his nostrils like sentient vines that refused to be tamed. He tried plucking, waxing, even praying to Odin, but they came back thicker and longer, swaying in the breeze like a granny’s piss flaps.

By the time he sneezed a woman unconscious at a train station, his reputation was beyond repair.

The South African fans stopped coming. The selfies dried up. Tourists mistook him for a wizard or a homeless person. His fan club, once 10,000 strong, had dwindled to a single confused pensioner from Farnworth who thought she had seen him in a film with a donkey and a dragon. Eventually, Ste gave up the spotlight. He shaved what remained, bought a flat cap, and moved to a small village where he took up fishing.

Sometimes, though, when the wind is just right, you can still hear a soft clink of a tooth hitting the pavement... and a sigh that smells faintly of sugar, burnt hair and matches.

-The End.

*I must hide now for a while whilst he hunts me down. Wish me luck everyone :D