Edited Heil-lights

Starting this blog today was, it turns out, quite a good move as I have a wee story to report immediately. So I shall polish off (curious phrase, but well worth revisiting) my cheese on toast (or toast under cheese if you want to be different/awkward), shuffle iTunes and get on with it. OK. So, for reasons not even known to myself, just before Christmas 2012 I decided to grow a beard. Not anything lengthy or wild, just a neat number three (one for the hairdressers there) cut. Since then I have almost lovingly cared for it, trimmed its unruliness and blackened its white bits. I have also received a lot of positive comments/lies from attractive females, so it has stayed on my face, on that basis. However, I was informed recently that my photo driving license runs out (check yours now!) in April and requires renewing. To do this, I need a passport-sized photo of myself. I say passport-sized photo, but a photo the size of a passport would be stupidly large, so in fact I require a passport-photo-sized photo for the new license. I decided I'd rather not have a be-bearded driving license for the next decade, so I set about ridding myself of the foliage this very evening. Not that my last driving license featured a snapshot of a sensible period of my life. When I was photographed for that one I had a hair (I hesitate to add the word 'style' here, so I won't) cut that resembled a hair/'Fudge™' tribute to the millennium dome. Pictures available upon request.

Clippers charged, I took myself to the bathroom and began shaving through a series of silly styles which I felt obliged to partake in when removing le barb. Firstly I had to extinguish the hair under my bottom lip, right down to my chin in order to pay homage to the late Geoff/Jeff Keegan out of gritty, Geordie stuffed kid's drama, Byker Grove. My girlfriend, Abbie, was on hand (on the loo to be precise) to capture this moment on memory (the contemporary replacement for 'on film'? Answers on a postcard... Actually, that needs a contemporary rebranding too. Well, it's 'text your answer' isn't it...). Where was I? Beards. Yes. That's right, I was watching Spuggy/Spuggie and Fraser playing pool in that there Newcastle for a moment. Next up then had to be the handlebar moustache, swiftly followed by the classic/standard 'tache, which gave me the appearance of a young - possibly homosexual - William Gaunt (ask you parents - about William, not homosexuality. If they're anything like mine it will involve the vilification of Elton John and a selection of derogatory terms that seem not to exist outside of their own four walls.)

Lastly then, I'm left with the 'toothbrush moustache'. It had to be done. Made famous by Charlie Chaplain of course and more recently, the comedian Richard Herring. I think a few others have worn it in the past, but no one noteworthy springs to mind as I write. I am however, still sporting said fuzz as I write. Two hours later. I've been round to see a friend who grinned at it a bit but didn't deem it that odd a thing for me to be in possession of. Oddly, I found myself extremely conscious of everyone around me, even though I was driving. With every motorist I encountered, I instantly imagined some sort of altercation or accident where I would have to leap from my thankfully not German car and start a rant at some undoubtedly bemused driver. The short drives there and back were free from incident, but I am now left with a dilemma. Shall I keep it for another day or whip it off? I'm currently a mature student and have a full day at college tomorrow. Politics was yesterday - phew - but despite less contentious lessons, will my classmates find it a worry, a distraction or a bit of fun? Who knows? I don't. The only way is to do it, but could I really? It all depends on how big my balls are feeling when the alarm goes off in the morning. If it's as cold as last night then they'll be pretty small, like two grapes in clingfilm. That won't be sufficient in this case. I definitely need a couple of große pflaumen to go through with this 'un. Guten nacht. x