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.
15 November 2007
Bewhiskered and Betweeded
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.
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2 comments:
that trip put some serious age on you.
Sounds great to me. Though I suppose we're not unique in this way, I think we absolutely share a very specific aesthetic; sort of an English, writerly, drunk philosophizer. Here in New York, after a hard day at work, I love to sit in my Herman Miller arm chair, with a Guinness, stroking my scruff with one hand and unbuttoning the waist coat on my Ralph Lauren Purple Label, cashmere hounds-tooth three piece. Cheers, Trad.
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