There’s more to this month than Fawkes and fireworks, remember, remember,
It’s a time when men turn into their dads on purpose; strive deliberately to look ridiculous. Or like Burt Reynolds. Or a porn star. Or Adolf Hitler.
But it’s all in a good cause. It’s Movember, time to grow a ’tache for charity. The idea is men get sponsored and their mo dosh goes for research into men’s health.
Everybody’s doing it. Even a British Airways plane is taking to the skies sporting a huge ’tache under its nose. More airbush than airbus.
Bloke and Boy are Mo Bros; they’ve signed up and are now sporting early sproutings.
In Boy’s case I’m reminded of that joke about the mild green hairy lip squid. What’s appearing is a wonky little whisker of ginger – yes, ginger; where the heck did that come from? It looks pubescent. Like the fluff that appears under the... err, armpits of a teenage redhead. One imagines.
To be honest. I’m praying that this much mush is all he can muster. Boy looks enough like his dad as it is and his father had a full-blown moustache when we first met (fortunately they were all the rage in the late Seventies, as he had a very odd little top lip).
We know what to expect of Bloke’s bristles. He has been sporting facial hair for some time now, mainly because I like him hirsute. He matches the dog.
Fair to say, he can grow a beard faster than you can say Deliverance.
But talk about puritanical; on the morning of November 1, he shaved the whole lot off.
“Why didn’t you leave the stiff stuff on the upper lip? It would have given you a head-start,” I said. “ Come Tuesday week, you could have been twizzling it up at the corners like Salvador Dali while sitting in Debenhams’ cafe sipping your free Movember coffee.”
“It’s the rules; you HAVE to start from scratch,” he said, dabbing one on his cheek. It’s been a long time since he and his razor were acquainted.
Because I’m “supporting him” I’m officially a Mo Sista. “Whilst a Mo Bro may grow, it is the Mo Sista that is often the driving force,” says the Movember website.
“For many Mo Bros, the thought of growing a moustache can be a daunting one. They may be concerned about how they will look with their newly acquired facial friend and nervous as to whether they are capable of growing a Mo. Mo Sistas play a vital role in supporting the journey.”
I’m on that road trip, but my take on being supportive has its limits.
It runs to not wincing when he kisses me and grinning and bearing the fact that day by day, my normally dapper chap is morphing into a drive-by trucker from the head up.
Oh, and delivering meals that won’t linger longer in the bristles than on his digestive system. Nothing too sticky, crumbly or flaky, is what I figured.
Soup is proving very good; it filters through, much as it would for a basking shark – if it ever got its lips around a barrel-load of Batchelors chicken noodle.