15 November 2007
As you may already have heard, I have now grown a beard. It is a blonde number with hints of red and brown, a tribute in part to my Viking ancestors. I have already received several compliments on it, plus some admiring glances. The blonde whiskers accentuate my blue eyes, or so I have been told. I profess to have an instinctive bias against facial hair, but in truth I have long harboured a secret desire to sport a beard and moustache. In my English dreams, which come to me now in exile on an increasingly frequent basis, I picture myself sporting a thick, hairy tweed jacket, lovat moleskin trousers, tweed cap, and beard, with a pipe and pint of bitter in hand.