THERE'S nothing like the threat of extinction for heightening our sense of appreciation. Isn't that why we welcomed Boyzone back with open arms and mounted a campaign to save Cadbury's Wispa from the grave?

Why then, am I still waiting for the redhead love-in, the mass hysterical display of affection that was supposed to follow the news that redheaded people are a dying breed? In less than 100 years, thanks to recessive genes, redheads could be reduced to a mere historical footnote. Considering we currently account for less than 2pc of the world's population, it wouldn't be that difficult to snuff us out.

It's all very well if you're brunette or blonde. You may have spent a good portion of your childhood sniggering at the unfortunate redhead in the class, dreaming up nicknames such as "ginger minger" and "jaffa cake", while secretly thanking your lucky stars that you hadn't been cursed with freckled skin.

HEARTSTRINGS

But if you have grim experience of flying the flag for this most maligned bunch, news of a possible demise is likely to tug painfully at your heartstrings.

I know. As a child, I was cursed with schizophrenic hair that couldn't decide if it was happy being auburn or a curious hybrid ginger-brown. My mother diplomatically described it as a "brown with auburn streaks" that would cost a pretty penny in any decent hair salon.

There were several associated hazards of my mutated MC1R gene. A half-hour in the sun reduced my shamefully sensitive skin to red blisters, and not even two decades of determined sunbathing has increased my tolerance.

Oh and as for the freckles, don't start me. A few sallow-skinned "friends", (I use the term lightly) would point at my forearm, smattered with brown specks, and squeal: "Euugghhh, you're all blotchy!"

Lo and behold, God eventually took pity on me and decided to grant at least a portion of my prayers. As I grew older, the euphemistically-titled auburn began to slowly disappear, leaving me with a rich, multi-toned brown. I was initially ecstatic, until I discovered that the other man's grass is always a more enticing colour.

All around me, mousy-haired girls were enthusiastically destroying their bathrooms with violent red hair dyes. Somehow, while I was busy monitoring the disappearance of my carrot locks, they had morphed into something desirable.

The rise of the redheads was already apparent on TV, thanks to Nicole Kidman, Julianne Moore and Chris Evans, More recently, we've made stars out of proud redheads Marcia Cross, Tilda Swinton and Rupert Grint. Apparently, we can't get enough of that pale Celtic glamour.

Ever the bandwagon passenger, I had only one option. And so, for the past seven years, I've spent untold amounts of cash in various hair salons in a bid to be restored to my former glory.

Alas, some people obviously haven't grasped the fact that the small but mighty group of redheads aren't the type to face extinction quietly.

BULLIES

My heart contorted with pity when I read about a family of redheads in Newcastle who were advised to dye their hair after bullies forced them to flee their home. We all abhor racists, yet as a redhead you're likely to be confronted with a socially accepted prejudice because of the colour of your skin and hair. The phrase "ginger minger" is often injected with venom -- and while it's obviously disgusting to attack someone over the colour of their skin, abusing another person over the colour of their hair is deemed OK.

It's not too late to change things around. Considering we've about 100 years before we're all snuffed out, a few decades of carefully schemed procreation should be enough to ensure the survival of the red-head genes.

Mark my words. Pay heed to all those carrot tops, ginger nuts and jaffa cakes, they're the forerunners of a master race in the making.

- Aoife Finneran