Afternoon everybody,
Wahey! I have broken the halfway stage of the beard growing extravaganza...I'm in the home straight...well, slightly curly beard phase.
I think this is probably the first time you could call it a beard - the hair finally being long enough to not look like stubble. There is a disappointingly large amount of grey on my chin but there's nothing I can do about that...I've had a hard life.
Well, no, that's a lie, I've just worried a lot about a lot of pointless things in my life and that's reflected in my hair and beard. Being a compulsive worrier is a pretty fruitless occupation...wondering whether a plane is going to crash into your house during Eastenders has few positives....and some would say that refusing to drink out of a red mug because it might cause the world to stop spinning is a little absurd. I've got plenty more but I don't want to start thinking about them right now.
When I was little there were only two questions I used to ask...1. "What time are we going to eat?" and 2. "Why?"....these were enough to get me safely through to my teen years.
Asking "What time are we going to eat?" gave my day structure and purpose and allowed me to build a den in a ditch or perform open-heart surgery on a dead squirrel before dinnner. "Why?" answered all the other stuff I needed to know...
Mum: You remember Mrs Barnes don't you? well, she's coming to live with us for a while
Me: Why?
Mum: Because she doesn't want to be at her home.
Me: Why?
Mum: Well, Mr Barnes has decided he is going to live with his secretary for a bit"
Me: Why?
And so it went on...
Or "Why?" could prove exhausting to those it was directed at...
Bully: Come 'ere Cobby I'm going to smash your stupid face in.
Me: Why?
Bully: Cos you've got goofy teeth and retard glasses.
Me: Why?
Bully: I dunno do I? Maybe it's genetic or sumfink. Anyways, take your glasses off.
Me: Why?
And so it went on until they lost the will to live (or kick my head in).
These days my head is filled with a million questions...most of them completely stupid...like is my mobile phone frying my brain?....can you die of drinking too much tea?....could my beard suffocate me in the middle of the night?...are people actually reading this rubbish?
Each of the little grey hairs on my head, and even the ones sat on my chin, are telling their own little story on the outside, grown from a stupid worrying question that was raised on the inside.
Now that's got me thinking...
David
