A failure at flirting with fluffy follicles

Soon after hitting puberty, I was into pogonotrophy. Relax, despite sounding like something wicked, it’s the growing of facial hair. In high school I tried cultivating what was no more than white fluff that at best was unsightly. The geography teacher, a 1.8m German, threatened me with six bangs on the head with a blackboard compass if I didn’t shave.

On the cadet field, the sergeant major (a teacher in army drag), promised to hang me up as a target at rifle practice if persisting with what he called “your blerrie bum fluff”.

It was only after an anonymous chick sent me an envelope containing a razor blade with the words written on arithmetic paper, “Suggest you use this – and I’m all yours”, that I succumbed.

It’s not every day an offer like this comes along to a shy, pimply and freckled-faced string bean. But it took another three months before I identified the sender (a pretty long-legged church organist) who had subsequently opted for a clean-shaven, baby-faced choirboy.

In frustration, I allowed the fluffies to again sprout freely. Wrong move. Both the geography teacher and sergeant major made good on their promises. Today I still carry tell-tale bumps on the head and red cavities on the legs (thankfully the marksmen were bad shots, missing my upper torso).

Over the years I kept fooling around with different tashes, but never gave them a chance to settle on some fixed style. None of them improved my looks.

Even tried the Chevron. Remember Tom Selleck as Magnum? Instead of attracting the girls it attracted gobs of peanut butter and syrup.

Then the Handlebar. My tongue kept licking the ends when tickling my mouth. Most unappetising.

The Toothbrush (Charlie Chaplin) was easier to control as it only covered two nostrils. I didn’t mind being called Charlie, but when some rightist git in the newsroom did the Nazi salute and screamed “Heil, Hitler” when passing my desk, the offensive emblem was immediately ripped off by its roots.

Marriage stopped me trying the Mutton Chops (sideburns across the cheeks). Only a clean face allows for leg over, because my Heidi believes pogonotrophy is for older men.