Take a look at my photo on the about page (incidentally, don’t I look like a fat George Harrison…?) you’ll notice in the general white noise of ugliness that I have an affliction. A self inflicted curse I’m forced to carry around on my face like a particularly hideous birth defect or Piers Morgans entire face.
I have a beard.
It’s not a great one. Its more like a hair-dam; a thin defensively line, a bit worn out in places, fighting against the encroaching wave of jowls. In my head I think it makes me look intelligent and attracts like minded intelligent with a simple promise: “Hey, he has a beard. He must be intelligent/have a sense of humour”
In reality it looks like I’ve just crushed a vole into my mouth spreading its fury little body across my chin.
So when I hear of someone taking a razor to their similarly cursed face, I simply, sigh, slump back in between my fooled intelligent friends and wish I’d hack it off like a gangorous limb.
Someone like Doctor Who writer and comic scribe Paul Cornell (Father’s Day) who followed in the footsteps of other comic greats like Alan Moore, and grew a beard for Lent for charity- culminating in the great shave off last Sunday (including some moustache based experimentation… no, not like that!)
His face fuzz (looking like it might eat a child if Cornell wasn’t permanently staring down his nose, making sure it was still there) has raised £1,602.28 for homeless charity Shelter- including a double or nothing donation from writer George R. R. Martin (Game of Thrones) recieved on the proviso that Cornell dyed it green…which he did.
Cornell has since promised that his facial hair days are behind him:
“Thanks for all being so kind. I’m never going to do anything beard-related again. And now I’m going to go and eat some soup.”