Barbeardba Ann


If I don’t tidy up my beard soon, I’ll morph into an early-Eighties Beach Boy. 


This style choice isn’t intentional; it’s brought about by a 50/50 mix of laziness/busyness. There hasn’t been sufficient time to go about my usual high standard of personal grooming. If I’m not careful, I’ll be buying a sandpit, pushing my piano into it and playing the verse riff of California Girls on it on loop.

(This is a very specific Brian Wilson reference.)

I’d better knock my untrimmed facial hair on the head before Thursday’s Hitchin gig. Phil Kay’s on the bill, and I don’t want to end up in the crossfire of a high stakes ‘beard-off’. He’s more likely to this battle than me; he’s a professional beard wearer. If nothing else, I’ll buy a beard snood, as I’m not sure our public liability insurance covers hygiene.

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