IT’S one of life’s eternal mysteries, like what came first, the chicken or the egg? Or, why do men have nipples?

And will Last of the Summer Wine ever end?

I refer to the identity of the Stig, demon driver and perma-helmeted hero of Top Gear (Sundays, BBC2, 8pm).

Up until now all we really know about the mysterious man in white is that when he’s finished lapping a car, the driver’s seat smells of hot Bovril, that his ears are not where you’d expect them to be, that every time someone uses the word “mincemeat” he gets 25p, and that he is the world’s leading authority on steam irons.

Otherwise he’s a bit of an enigma.

So how cruel and – considering the record-breaking seven million-plus viewers who tuned in to Sunday night’s first episode of the new series – how very shrewd, of the Top Gear crew to pretend that the Stig would be de-helmeted on air and we would all finally get to know who he really was.

You could smell the anticipation and sense the frisson of excitement running through the studio audience (which is always predominantly women of the Take That-first-time-round age for some reason) as the familiar figure, like a Power Ranger after a boil wash, strode into the studio for the great unveiling.

With much pomp, ceremony and a lot of very loud shouting from Clarkson, off came the visor to reveal, no, not the Stig – gotcha suckers! – but Michael Schumaker, who then played along with the joke, which was basically Clarko not recognising him and believing him to actually be the Stig.

So, that’s cleared that up then.

Or not.

And speaking of helmets, I know he had that super-scary, high-speed car crash and everything, but little Richard Hammond appears to be growing his own, natural head protection.

Obviously his miraculous escape and recovery have had more long-term effects than first appeared and, now paranoid about the effectiveness of regulation headgear, he’s simply growing an extra one using his own hair.

At first it seemed he was just trying to out bouffant James May, but now it’s clear the guy’s got a bee in his bonnet and from where I was sitting it looks blooming enormous.

A bold barnet also played a pivotal role in this week’s stupendous Flight of the Conchords (Tuesday, BBC4, 10.30pm).

Now, I know I went on about the show last week, but this week’s was simply too good to be ignored.

Brian, the visiting Prime Minister of New Zealand, was a genius creation and is reason enough for a third series, even if it’s just so we can find out if his daughters liked the Charlie’s Angels-style photos he had taken with the President Obamalike.

But back to hair.

After being coerced by manager Murray to take part in a lookalikee gig, where they played Simon and Garfunkel, Jemain suddenly found an upside to aping Art.

Before you could say “Hello darkness, my old friend” a fan – mercifully not Mel – was all over him like a rash and agreeing to a dinner date.

However, when Jemain turned up minus his great ginger Garfunkel of a wig, she was sorely disappointed and ordered him home to put it back on again.

He did and it paid off; she dragged him home and, with the lights dimmed, and in certain positions and avoiding any talking or singing, he was a fair substitute for the great man himself.

Until, shock horror, her boyfriend, who turned out to be the real Art Garfunkel (yes, it was really him, looking a bit like the love child of Malcolm McLaren and Gary Oldman in Bram Stoker’s Dracula) pitched up at her front door to patch things up.

“This is the 12th one,” said the real Art of the fake one and shook his head.

Jemain, mortified, slipped quietly out the door.

A delicious example of perfect comedy timing, pathos, and how to look tragic while wearing a funny wig.

A rare skill, but Paul Daniels can do it, too.