I hated shaving.

It was not only tedious but I always seemed to end up with loads of blood spots.  Something to do with ingrowing hair.

When I was twenty one I came down with a violent case of Glandular Fever.  For at least a week I was bedbound and didn’t even have the strength to eat.  It was not nice.  Naturally I didn’t shave.  Immediately after, I went on a camping trip to recuperate [fresh air and all that].  I still didn’t shave.  As the days passed, so the beard grew.  I haven’t shaved since.

The beard is nothing to do with appearance.  It is purely a matter of convenience where I only have to hack it occasionally to keep it out of my meals.

The other problem was my hair.  It happens to be very straight and refuses to be trained.  The fringe would get in my eyes and that really pissed me off.  Herself had a local lad come and cut her hair every now and then.  I was always included [reluctantly] in those visits.

Then along came The Plague.

All visits stopped but my hair didn’t stop growing.  I started to tie it back.  Eventually even the front hair was long enough to be included in the tie-back.  Brilliant!  No more hair in my eyes and no more haircuts.

The hair is quite long now, at least half way down my back.  It doesn’t bother me at all, but it bothers Herself.  She says it’s too long and wants Daughter to cut it back by at least six inches.  She mentioned this to Daughter and the latter refused – she said there was a lovely curl at the end [news to me!] and that she wasn’t going to cut that off.  So Herself is envious of the length and Daughter is envious of the curl.

Stalemate.

And I just sit here in no-man’s land letting my hair grow.