Off Message

On the way to work this morning, a massive gust of wind snapped my umbrella. Clearly an act of God.

Maybe it’s the beard. Perhaps he objects to the competition.

I will attempt to make something out of the comment he/she/it/they left. And it is this: what the hell is wrong with you lilly livered lightweights? Why can’t you leave comments under your own names? What, exactly, are you scared of? Do you worry that I’ll somehow track you down, turn up on your doorstep in the middle of the night dressed in nothing but a see-through mac and insist we engage in a vigorous debate on the relative merits of your comment, perhaps followed by an impromptu bout of American-style jockstrap wrestling?

Because I probably would.

I am growing a beard. It started off with my girlfriend asking me not to shave just to see what it might look like, but now it’s developing into yer proper, actual beard, although it’s still on the border of extended stubble. But I’ve obviously made some kind of commitment to beardiness, as I bought a beard trimmer at the weekend, in expectancy of having to trim my beard at some future date.

I think the longest I’ve ever left it before shaving is about a week. This time, I last shaved just before Christmas. I never thought much about beards before, beyond brief ruminations on how difficult it might be to shave one off if I ever did grow one. But every man should grow a beard some time in his life, I feel. My uncle had one at various junctures, and he always carried it off well. It’s something we can all do, us men, so why not do it, see how it looks? Unless it turns out bright ginger, of course. Or grey. But neither of these things have ocurred in my case, so on we press.