Once, a screen flashed a bleak monochrome face: staring eyes, wild hair.

With wild hair, a great line in colourful suits and a marvellously talented band of like-minded musicians, he achieved his goal.

Even late in life her wild hair and eyepopping outfits provided copy for the columns.

Then he hugged me, and in a whirl—his bouncing gait, his wild hair—he was gone.

She came back bedraggled, socks by her ankles and wild hair.