I decided to do a bit of writing yesterday.

I don’t mean scribbling bits of nonsense here [as per today] but some serious stuff in what has now become my Memoirs. I decided Biography or even Autobiography was a bit pompous, whereas a Memoir more correctly refers to what I remember. Which is precious little.

Doing the serious shit meant moving to Windows which of course meant that half my time was wasted with software updates that eventually failed anyway but that’s beside the point.

The bit I’m writing at the moment is particularly difficult as it involves a lot of memories of things I would rather brush under the carpet. It’s personal stuff but important as it was essentially what shaped me. I’ll probably delete it anyway but I have to get it into words just to sort out the thoughts in my head. The very effort of putting thoughts into words is actually a good exercise in creating clarity.

Anyways I got a bit pissed off with the writing at one point and decided to fuck off down to the village for a break.

So there I was, sitting outside in the gloom and cold of a winter’s afternoon. Penny had had her little feed of chicken and I had my mug of coffee and a pipeful. It was very quiet [the gobshite from Sunday had vanished] and very peaceful. It was as good a way as any to celebrate the Winter Solstice.

A voice disturbed my ruminations.

“Does that beard keep you warm?”

I looked up and there was an elderly couple sanding beside me propping each other up. At first I thought he said “beer” which was a little confusing but then I realised the true question. I thought about it for a moment.

“Well put it this way” said I. “Many years ago I shaved it off, and from then on every breath of wind was like a slap in the face with a cold fish.”

He laughed.

“So yes,” I continued, “I grew it back and it has kept me warm ever since.”

“Well” says he, “Congratulations. It’s a fine beard.”

I have many comments in the past about my various pipes but this was my first ever comment on the beard.

I was chuffed.