As Edinburgh gets closer then all thoughts in my head turn to my face, and not the show I’m trying to write.
Last year Romantic Comedy was about the year before of me trying to be a goth. This left me pretty much clean shaven throughout as goths tend to be, unless they have long goatees or daftness.
I have no such premise this year, and have spent no part of this last twelve months being remotely gothic.
It is therefore time to grow me an Edinburgh beard. I feel it makes me look like more like I know what I’m talking about.
I have been not shaving since I did my last (vaguely) gothy thing of going to Torture Garden, which was about five weeks ago. My beard is coming along nicely, and with six weeks left til Edinburgh kicks off, and then four/five weeks of it – I should be darned hairy for the post Ed shavedown.
I am already proud of it. And today, like a pregnant baby (well, like a baby in a pregnant lady) and its first kick I got the first sign it was a real bear.
In the toilet at work today I was washing my hands, as you do, and I noticed something in the beard.
It was a bit of my pizza from the night before.
I am complete