Aha! I have FOUR followers! I feel like Jesus (when he was starting out, obvi.) but without quite so much beard. All I seem able to grow is a few dark black Fu Man Chu's at the corners and a couple of enormous Michael Finigans on my chin.
However, I now have to use a 6x magnifying mirror to be able to see the buggers and, trouble is, it makes the rest of me moosh look like a topographical map of South America. I tell you, there is an old dippy hole on one of me cheek that looks like the bloody sea of tranquility, and around my nose - well, shall we say the B roads of Britain, why don't we.
For years I used that anti-wrinkle cream endorsed by that lying hag, Andi MacDowell (dunno if that's her name, but you must know her, the Jane to Christopher Lambert's Tarzan). I bet if you see her in the flesh she's got a face like the skin of a custard falling off the table - and there's me, spending a forch, rubbing a load of rendered cow fat into me face for years, and what do I get: best with the light behind me, mate.
Word on the strasse is that Miss Gladiola is in hospedale having her varicose veins 'done' (I hear they make a hole and pull 'em out like licquorice strings with baked beans attached).
Debs came for visit yesterday and managed to keep Hound of the Baskervilles at bay by using her skills gained as Head Librarian for many years i.e. she didn't shout (years of working in a library) but she pulled some remarkably stern faces and did very angry mime. It was like Marcel Marceau having an argument with Helen Keller (Connie Brix being both deaf to commands and completely dumb). That dog is so going Battersea. Ha! Let's face it: the only one going anywhere's gonna be me. Soon as that dog learns to use the phone she'll be booking me into the local Shadey Pines.
Note to all lovely followers: ta very much and feel free to contradict any old rubbish I put up and/or ask me who's who in the neighbourhood.