My First Movember: Christopher Sharpe, Week 5

The razor end is nigh for Christopher and his moustache. It’s been an emotional month and he’s got mixed feelings about bidding his hairy friend farewell. We don’t have any mixed feelings: desperate sadness is the vibe at BL today.  

Christopher Sharpe, day 30

Christopher Sharpe, day 30

Denizens of Movemberton. Mogents and Movettes. The end is nigh. Raise your moustache combs in the air and wave them like you just don’t care.

At the time of writing I’m 11 hours 10 minutes and 15 seconds away from a few legitimised swipes of a razor and then that’ll be it, a few clippings taking the log flume to facial hair heaven (read: sewage treatment plant – I know, it’s heart-breaking) and voila: a clean-shaven chance for a clean slate as we flip the calendar over into the Christmas season.

The artist's impression of facial hair heaven. Looks pretty sweet to us.

The artist’s impression of facial hair heaven. Looks pretty sweet to us.

Part of me can’t wait, fuelled by the same sense of slowly-building British impatience that comes with queues and temporary traffic lights so that it’s positively bristling to evict these bristles. The rest of me is rather glum as we lie on the precipice, as forlorn as at the sight of an invited guest starting to pack his bags and leave them by the door.

Undeniably he’s overstayed his welcome, teetering at the edge of my hospitality with his irritating forays into my tea, occasional spelunking expeditions into the corners of my mouth and accompanying general aura of downright disappointment that lingers like a bad smell.

On that last point, and almighty first world problem that it is, it’s fully struck home on my final day with my little chap (you and your dirty mind) that he’s rather fallen short. When ranked amidst the legions of my moustachioed brethren, I have proved to be less Clark Gable or Taylor Rice and more the gringo on those cigarette pack warnings – you know the one. Furthering this point was an exchange I had earlier this week:

“I was hoping you’d come out looking all dapper and RAF. But instead -”

“- I’m all bum-fluffy and ginger.”

“SO GINGER!”

So the time is definitely right to say goodbye. Wonderfully though, the whole point of my tache and the spirit of the month lives on. I’ve raised a decent chunk of money – and a huge thank you to all you kind souls that have proffered a few beans in my direction, but here’s the link once again if you fancy it – which will be thrown on the pile to go with the £300 million that’s been raised over the last ten years for research, support services and awareness into prostate and testicular cancer amongst many other men’s health ghouls and goblins. Here’s to the next 11 months of Movember in action. Then we’ll do it all over again. For now though, Monty and I bid you adieu. Keep on bearding in the free world and stay classy.

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About Francesca Peak

Lifestyle, arts and culture journalist.
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