The whole damn world: Fungus Face

When I was very small, we had a neighbour that had a beard. Most people had sidies and longish hair, and wore brown and orange clothing to match the wallpaper, but this neighbour had a beard. My Dad nicknamed him "Fungus Face"

We lived in a small village in North Wales, where everyone knew each other, and I would regularly visit other people. I was a cute little kid and no trouble.

At some point though, I visited the guy with the beard, and asked him "Is your name Fungus Face?"

Later I reported to my parents that his name wasn't Fungus Face at all. It was Percy Norward. OK It wasn't, and the guy might not still be alive, but I've changed it anyway. We met them years later at the Liverpool Garden Festival. Fungus Face, if you're still alive, and happen to read this, I'm sorry. It wasn't my fault. (I looked online. He died at some point. His ex wife died too. They had a son who shared his fathers name. He lives in North Wales and is a musician)

And now I'm old enough to shave, but beards sit uncomfortably on my face. I get so far with them, then they get itchy and full of soup, and I shave them off again. Poor old Michael Finnegan Beginnegan.

This time, I really let it grow out. Finally though, it got too much, and I de-fuzzed.