beard

Those who follow these unreliably random postings might just recall an item that appeared back in October last relating to my hitherto unconsidered decision to indulge in the cultivation of a facial inflorescence… To be precise – a beard!

The growth of which was something that I had not previously attempted and at the time of writing I wasn’t sure exactly how I felt about being adorned with such an accoutrement. I quite liked the look of the thing – thinking perhaps that it made me look a little distinguished – but I wasn’t at all sure that I felt like a man who should have a beard.

I have clearly had nothing further to convey on the subject since October – a reliable indicator that there has been no change either in my appearance or in my feelings regarding the matter.

Until now…

The growth seemed to suit best when kept reasonably short and tidy and I thus found it necessary to trim it at least once a week. Compared to shaving daily this was like being on holiday and I really rather enjoyed seeing what could be done with it. All went well until last night, when I was the sorry victim of a rare shaving accident – or more properly – a ‘trimming’ accident.

The beard trimmer that I had purchased to control the beast is a reasonably fancy job which has an electronic control by which the closeness of the cut is adjusted.

Yes – you can already see where this is headed!

Somehow – I know not how and – inevitably – without noticing until it was too late – I contrived to alter the cut setting so that the length was reduced from 5mm to 0.5mm! Within seconds I had cut a swathe like a firebreak across one cheek! Even the most cursory inspection revealed the situation to be hopeless. All I could do was to whip the whole thing off and then figure out if I wanted to start over again from scratch.

Doh!

It came as a considerable shock to see my naked face staring back at me from the mirror and I’m not at all sure that I like how I now look without the facial embellishment. Even worse – I am going to have to shave again every day!

Part of me is annoyed that I didn’t get to choose if and when I shaved the thing off; part of me shrugs philosophically and considers that this is what the universe has provided.

Either way it takes some getting used to…

As to the whiskers, having never worn any, do you not think people would call it a piece of silly affectation if I were to begin it now?

Abraham Lincoln (before he grew such!)

We are now well into Movember – that intriguing charitable appropriation of the penultimate month by those who encourage the effusion of facial fungus in support of mens’ heath issues. This is – of course – an extremely good cause and one which I wholeheartedly support. I understand that the campaign is already well established in Canada and support in the UK and elsewhere grows year on year. At the School boys and staff alike have taken up the challenge – in many cases with inevitably hilarious results.

Good for them!

I am not myself one of those so engaged, but it should be admitted at this point that I am – nonetheless – currently cultivating something of a beard –  an undertaking that I have never before so much as attempted. The main reason for not being a party to the charitable effort is that I stopped shaving – as I frequently do – over the recent half term, only deciding as School returned not to re-start. Those properly adopting the challenge are supposed to be clean-shaven on the first of November – which ruled me out since I couldn’t face starting again from scratch.

The other reason for my ambivalence is that I still find myself very much in two minds as to whether or not I really do want to sport such facial growth.

First steps in anything new – as always in this technological age – are to consult the InterWebNet. There I get something of a shock. There is a fair amount of ‘beard’ literature thereabouts, but much of it has about it the sort of evangelical zeal that I find vaguely discomforting. Enthusiasm for the wearing of a beard I can – I suppose – understand. Efforts to stigmatise those who choose not so to do as being somehow less than manly could be conceived as humourous until those attempts become just that little bit too vehement – at which point I start to sense the pungent odour of rodent!

I am not particularly hirsute and three weeks into the experiment progress on my putative brush seems to have slowed to a crawl. Before you smile knowingly and mutter “there you go, then” to yourself, it has to be said that I actually think the growth quite suits me. It makes me look almost distinguished. Further, the Kickass Canada Girl – having previous form in the field of beard appreciation – has given the nod of approval.

The thing is – though – that I’m not sure that I either particularly like the feel of wearing the thing, nor – indeed – that I actually like the notion of being bearded. Though I am susceptible to the romantic caprice of the grizzled mariner I’m not sure if that is in reality how I see myself. I simply don’t know whether I like the idea or not.

Well – perhaps I’ll give it a week or so…