Beard
December 9th, 2004
I’ve
been growing a beard for almost a month. Initially born through tiredness,
post Dave’s stag in Budapest, and then allowed to endure through sheer
laziness, it’s existence isn’t defined by the presence of whiskers on
my chin so much as an absence of shaving, which is really what it’s all
about.
Having said that, looking back I can see a pattern in my hirsuteness
(hirsutity?). The last time I felt the urge to let it grow was, I think,
in ’97 when I managed 5 weeks. Before that was ’92 with a month of growth
– so that’s a hairy boat roughly
once every 6 years. Maybe there’s a deeper cycle to it, like El-Niño:
El-bêardo, lets call it. Ocean currents bring cooler weather to
the area causing men’s faces to chill and a subconscious desire
to whisker-up form. Anyone have any corroborative evidence?
This time around my new chin-furniture has attracted a surprising lack
of negativity. Generally beards
are thought of as unattractive and dirty – a quick role-call of whisker
wearers turns-up names like Harold
Shipman and Peter
Sutcliffe. So I’m interpreting the general absence of criticism as
a compliment to my thick, dark, and altogether not-at-all patchy beard
growing talent. At least it’s not some peculiar shade of orange, otherwise
unrelated to any other hair colour on my body, like the beards most Anglo-Saxons
seem to produce.
There’s a sting in the tail of this beard, though: Lower right, chin
section: a single white whisker. I’ve plenty of random whities in my
hair, but a white whisker is cause for concern. Only moderate concern
though, for as JJ has often pointed out to me, it’s when you get the
white pubes that you really have to start worrying 