There used to be an expression when I was a kid. If you screwed up you were called ‘a block head’. I don’t know where the expression came from but it seems to have faded from the scene. Perhaps I created it. When my mother gave birth to me, the doctors observed that I had an unusually large head. It almost killed my mother. They did not do many caesarean births at the time so they had to cut into her bones. Once I was released into this dimension (I think I had a dimension of my own) the doctors were worried that my neck might not support my head, that my head might keel over and break my neck. By the age of four, I could wear my father’s hat. My head was not only large but very hard. A neighbourhood kid hit me over the head with a baseball bat when I was five years old. I hardly felt it. I was run over by a car. The car received minimal damage. Me. Nothing. I did have to quit the football team. There were no helmets in my size. When a new law was created making it manditory to wear helmets on motorcycles, I had to give up my bike. I have a small benign tumour in my brain. There is plenty of room for growth. I measured my head one time and discovered upon investigation that Oliver Cromwell had the largest head in written history. We were like two peas in a pod.