The everyday blog of Richard Bartle.
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11:32am on Monday, 1st August, 2016:
I accidentally grew a beard for twelve days.
I normally shave in the morning, unless there are people asleep in the house that I'd wake up with my electric razor. Because my father-in-law was visiting, I missed a couple of days. Then, I caught a cold.
When I have a cold, I have it bad. I went through three boxes of man-sized tissues in two days, and my nose and top lip were as if someone had assaulted me in my sleep with a cheesegrater. I didn't shave while that was going on (the moustache part helps save some of my skin) then I couldn't shave for another couple of days after while the dead skin came off. By then, I hadn't shaved for nearly a week.
Ordinarily, at this point I would have shaved off the mess, but I decided to keep it for a while. I knew I was going to Dundee tomorrow, so had a deadline by which I really would have to get rid of it, but in the meantime I could see what I might look like with a beard (I've never grown one before, just a moustache), and whether it would come out completely white (as for the past few years it's looked as if it would) or have some colour in it.
In the end, I managed to get it to maybe 5mm before I shaved it off just now. It's perhaps 95% white, with the moustache more salt-and-pepper. I'd probably have needed to give it another fortnight before it reached a length that would look as if I had a beard, rather than looking as if I was growing one. Still, it was a useful exercise.
I quite liked it, as did my mother. My wife, however, didn't like it. That's OK, though, because I don't like her shoes.
What's that? You want pictures? Sigh...
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