I decided to shave off my rather voluminous beard yesterday, and set about the task after dinner. I was not at all nostalgic, to my surprise, probably owing to the fact that it had recently grown to comically large proportions, and I was beginning to look not unlike Brian Blessed. I've had it for about six months, and had consequently grown quite used to it, giving it a fond stroke at every available opportunity. However, with a smooth face and a sinkful of browny-ginger hair in front of me, I was a little startled to see how different I looked. My face seemed noticeably thinner, my mouth smaller, teeth more prominent, and inexplicably, my neck seemed fatter. Added to this was the fact that I now look about two or three years younger. So, I've spent today trying to remember if I looked like this before, and remembering how annoying shaving regularly can be.

While watching tv last night, I saw an ad for the GAA, featuring my old Chemistry classmate, Des Dolan, who now plays for Westmeath. He was taking the viewer step-by-step through a frankly appalling missed free kick of his from a few weeks ago, that would have given Westmeath victory over Meath for the first time in donkey's years. It was 20 metres out, straight in front of goal, and my mother would have scored it. Nonetheless, Dessie somehow sent it wide, and was recalling the scene in all its ignominy, to illustrate the magic and unpredictablilty that supposedly makes Gaelic Football so wonderful. Now, if this unfortunate incident were to happen to me, I don't think I would want to talk about it for a long time, much less be broadcast on national tv as a marketing tool, because the nature of GAA fans is such that no matter how fantastic your career is, you will inevitably be remembered for your fuck-ups. Which is pretty sad, because the boy Dolan is an outrageously talented lad, and had scored something like eight points in the game before taking that free. Magic my arse.