The Husband has been experimenting with his facial hair of late. He hasn't shaved for about ten days, having heard about MOVEMBER [sic] a campaign to grow a MOustache in NoVEMBER to raise awareness of prostate cancer. Only he is going for the full set and is attempting a beard as well.
He's had a beard once before, a good few years ago, but he removed it because of a disturbing side effect that he just couldn't tolerate. People, especially other men, started to take him seriously. No, it was worse than that, they hung on his every word and listened with such respect it was as though he were wise man, a guru. The beard conveyed such gravitas his every utterance was elevated to the status of holy scripture. It freaked him out, and the beard had to go so he could be silly again.
Last time he had a beard he had luxuriant long hair, which no doubt added to the messianic quality. These days, as his hairline has receded too much to sport a pony tail any longer, he is usually shorn to about one or two millimeters, so maybe he will grow his hair as well or else, as he just said this morning, "it will look as though I have my head on upside down".
He had a moustache in his youth. We have a photo from that time in which, The Daughter insists, "he looks like a Belgian porn star" (how she'd know...? Too much Eurotrash at a formative age, I am thinking)
which is probably why he's gone for the full set now
Nothing much else has been happening, apart from The Husband's increasing hirsuitism, which is why my blog hasn't appeared. I have been crocheting again,
another cot blanket for another baby expected in the early New Year. I am giving the first one to the mummy-to-be at her baby shower this Sunday. It's the one nearest the camera in this picture;
A group of us are meeting up for a cream tea in a smart Cotswold hotel to make a fuss of her. This is an American import I am glad to adopt (unlike trick or treating, which baffles me - we caution small children to avoid strangers for 364 days of the year and then on the 365th we send them out into the cold dark night to bang on the doors of people we don't know. Please explain...) as it is an all-female celebration of we women's ability to grow new human beings in our tummies, which (when it isn't thought of as an extra scene from Alien) is pretty damned clever of us. And tea in a posh hotel is a fab idea. Can't wait, to get all dressed up and go out and be dainty.
Just as well The Husband isn't invited. With a ten-day's growth he probably wouldn't get across the threshold.