It’s been a few days since I shaved – maybe about a week – and earlier today I got a couple of my whiskers caught in the door of the bathroom cabinet when I went to close it. Don’t ask how, it’s kind of stupid and difficult to explain. Let’s just say I was being narcissistic. Which, in the privacy and comfort of your own bathroom, is hardly a crime, right? Anyway, so a couple of my whiskers got snagged in the door. Which is very inconvenient, because it now means I can only move as fast as the speed at which my beard grows. That’s not necessarily the end of the world, I mean I don’t really have anything planned for the next couple of weeks, by which time I’ll hopefully have made it over to the other side of the washbasin. The real problem lies in the beard trail I’ll weave during my future travels – it could prove to be pretty awkward for people in the street to have to climb over or limbo underneath a complex series of beard ropes. Eventually I expect I’ll block out the sun in my town, killing low-lying plant life and giving the inhabitants a pale, colourless complexion, albeit with enhanced night vision. The ever-expanding carpet will also protect people from hailstones and falling space debris. Additionally, I will have a watertight alibi should I ever be wrongly accused of murder in Scotland. Provided, of course, I don’t actually visit Scotland.