I see the lines that I've earned and the hooded eyes that my mother had. When I
realised I looked like her – she died 12 years ago – it made me feel better,
because I got a little bit of her back.
When I started Joy Division, I
had a moustache, then we went away on tour and I didn't take a shaving kit. I
couldn't afford one, so I grew a beard and I've had one ever since. I've had it
for 36 years.
I'm 57 now and live in mortal fear of dropping my pick on
stage because bending down is a bleeding nightmare. That's the worst part of
getting old, the involuntary grunts when you pick something up off the floor.
And I've noticed I'm not alone. A lot of friends of a certain age do
it.
My 14-year-old daughter is my grooming expert: she shaves my back for
me. It's one of those odd things that the hair stops growing where it should,
and grows in unbelievable amounts where it hasn't grown before.
The hair
on my head is OK. I had nothing to do with my father after the age of nine, so I
don't know what happened to him hair-wise, but I'm hanging on in there. Mind
you, my mate keeps telling me I've got an egg in the nest at the back. That's
what they call going bald in Manchester.
I'm lucky, because I still enjoy
what I do, and that keeps you young. Considering how angst-ridden Joy Division
was and how traumatic New Order could be through the years, I've weathered quite
well.
• Peter Hook is appearing at the Edinburgh International Book
Festival on 10 August.
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