Beards, good or bad?
I’ve not done much since we last conversed. I grew some facial hair (ie I went a week without shaving). It looked rubbish, more scruffy Tennants Super drinker, than trendy pomegranate juice type, or indeed fluffy real ale/mudwater quaffer. Patchy too, twenty-seven and I’m incapable of growing a beard, rubbish effort. All the base components are present (sideburns, moustache and chinny-chin-chin bit), but they won’t meet. Unlike those bizarre über-PC kids in Captain Planet, they can’t combine their powers. Part of me is upset at the realisation that I can never naturally go to a fancy dress party as Geoff from Byker Grove, or that rather creepy bloke who presented Knightmare.
In other news, I’ve had a cold. Not a “stay in bed stocking up on Lemsip and cry off work” cold. Just snot. No headache, no fuzziness, no tiredness, no cough, no aches. Just snot. I couldn’t even justify a day or two off work, even though there was a Test match on. Just snot. I felt a bit cheated, a silver lining was that I remained fully pub fit through out. The only point to this annoying, lingering tiny little cold was I got through more tissues than at any time since I was 15. Maybe it was a corporate sponsored infection, “this pointless bout of snuffles is brought to you by Kleenex”.
I applied and failed to get a job in Aber, that deckchair attendent job is looking ever more tempting.
Also at work, I’ve apparently got to attend some pointless corporate “roadshow” (images of Mark Goodyer and Tiffany on a windswept promenade are sadly misleading). It’s in Birmingham at rush-hour o’clock, and I really need to get out of it. I can’t book a holiday because I’ve got the following week off (it is World Cup group stage after all, and I’m not about to miss South Korea versus Togo for anyone, no sir). I also can’t take the afternoon off on lieu time, it looks too obvious. I need a decent excuse, any ideas?
Laters,
Stavros.



