The post Cumbria Way facial hair
It seems like months since I was up North walking the Cumbria Way, which to be fair it was. However the vagaries of normal life meant that ultimately I didn’t get round to writing all the blog posts I meant to about my time up there – especially as I ended up writing a plethora of articles about London at the same time.
Still when you’ve got blog posts to write, why not write them even if it is far too late after the event! Especially when one of the things I didn’t get round to blogging about was facial hair!
Now you might wonder quite what hiking through Lakeland has to do with facial hair, so perhaps I should explain. See, when it comes to shaving, I’ve been doing it pretty much every day since some point in high school. I’ve never particularly liked stubble – it just feels a bit wrong, so I’m a bit of a dilligent shaver. The most I’ve ever gone without shaving is probably two days and the last time I did that was when my electric razor ran out of juice in Paris and I didn’t have the recharging lead, so I had to wait until I returned to the UK shortly after.
However my trip to Cumbria was about doing things I’ve never done before, and whilst I’d taken my shaving stuff with me, I decided en-route to give it a go. The razor stayed firmly in my rucksack.
There was something rather liberating about not having to scrape the old face ever day, even if it did make me look rather scruffy whilst I was away. Mind you when you’re alone in the hills all day, not many people are going to care. Mind you, it did mean that every time I looked in the mirror, I wasn’t entirely sure who I was looking at! It’s rather strange to not really recognise yourself.
Back at home after six days with no razor usage, I had a question – what to do next. I confess I did rather like the look of the beard – especially the wonderful multi-coloured. Who knew I had so many ginger hairs? Catherine also seemed to like it; mind you having someone stroke it at regular intervals was a little perturbing..
And worse was that every time I looked down, the bottom of the beard would brush against the top of my neck. It just got too distracting. Oh and I ended up with loads of spots underneath… In the end, on Bank Holiday Monday, the beard just had to go.
Before it did, naturally some photos were taken for prosperity. As you can see, it hadn’t had time to get particularly thick – another week or so and it would have got a bit more bushy and have perhaps a bit more photographic impact! But I’m not sure I could have coped with the neck tickling…