No, I'm not going to spare you the embarrassing old photos... and they get worse than this. Much worse.
This is around '92 I think, posing on my '81 XLS Sporty (with the factory extended forks) outside our flat in London.
Cut-off? Yeah mate, dunno whether I was trying to be 60s outlaw or Bon Jovi that week...
(PS. I published this post, then realised the title hadn't been an accident, but the result of a long-forgotten memory still lurking in my subconscious: The old man in the flat above us had Alzheimer's, and was a charming East End Jewish gent one day, then a raving – and amusing – nutbag the next. He used to lean out of the window when I was cleaning the bike and scream "Get yer fuckin' hair cut!". And in all his craziness... he was right.)