Photo taken from Murdock London.
I have a beard. I think that I have had a beard since the last century. Some time in the late 1990s, I grew a goatee and have had one ever since.
In all of that time, beard-husbandry was unknown to me. In the shower, I would massage in a little shampoo.
Length? I had a trimmer set to number two, and when the beard started to itch, I ran the trimmer over it.
There were occasions when I might risk a little experimentation with shape. Often these experiments were forced upon me by a slip of the hand, accidentally removing a section of beard.
Suddenly beards and their maintenance are quite the thing. On Tuesday the second of April a highly skilled professional from Murdock London is going to give me a whiskey and guide me through a complete beard consultation.
Then he will shape, trim and condition my facial hair to ensure that I might hold my head up in the hippest of company.
I have absolutely no doubt that I shall emerge from Murdock in Covent Garden laden with all of the essential beard grooming products that have been hitherto absent from my morning routine. I am prepared to bet that they will come in one of those high quality designer bags that used to be the preserve of Italian fashion labels.
In truth, I am quietly excited.
Should I risk a Musketeer’s flamboyant moustache?
Soup-catchers of which Hercule Poirot would be proud?
I wonder. Can you get beard extensions?
I shall let you all know….
