I've learned a new word and it’s quite a worrying one.

Concerning because probably the rest of the world already knew its existence and I’m the last in the know.

And worrying because it’s about a modern man essential that’s completely passed me by.

The word is manscaping.

Yes, you read it right. Not landscaping. Manscaping.

Landscaping is where you’d neatly trim the lawn. Manscaping is where you’d neatly trim your body hair ... if you’re a bloke. We’ll take it as read that the ladies already sort themselves out.

If you’re a modern fella you don’t just trim – you get rid of the lot.

Everything from the chest to ... well, perhaps we shouldn’t go there.

The modern mantra seems to be bodily hair is bad. Bald is good. And to baldy go where those in the know have gone before.

Back in my long ago days of puberty when punk was just getting into its stride and Starsky and Hutch had just gone out on their first patrol, hair was the in-thing.

The longer, the better. Also, seemingly, the worst hair-cut you could have the better too. There was absolutely no sense of shame and even centre partings all the rage. Now seeing one’s more likely to spark a rage.

As for hair-grooming well, that was simple. No putty, gel nor wax. No, it was a simple implement we used back then. It was called a comb.

Not that we all bothered with one. Teenagers just let it all grow with, sadly, not-so-hesitant mums giving them a not so neat trim at the kitchen table leading to some hair-raising disasters.

But those with mums who did bother with barbers there was only one place we were sent ... and that was Giovanni’s at the bottom of Trinity Street.

I remember it always seemed to be pouring down when I sat in there and there was always a massive queue. Condensation meant you couldn’t look out and so you found yourself staring at photographs of the men of the day with long hair. George Best was up there along with many other neatly coiffeured models who actually looked like they rarely visited a barber.

Giovanni would ask how I wanted my hair doing and I’d point at one of the photos but I’d always go out with a neat trim.

Perhaps the blokes on the picture would as well if they’d popped into Giovanni’s, the expert at the art of he short back and sides.

Chest hair was the thing to have. If you didn’t have that then you weren’t a man. Just ask Jason King. Who, you ask. OK, then, Burt Reynolds.

And few forgot that an unfeasibly large medallion set the whole rug look off. Hair chest got you into pubs. It attracted the women, apparently. By the time I’d grown chest hair it had gone out of fashion.

It’s all changed now. You won’t see a hair out of place on most young men. In fact, you won’t see any hair at all as they’ve ‘had the gardeners in’ and done a lot of manscaping.

As for me, I’ll just stick to mowing the lawn.