I shaved off my isolation beard yesterday. Not because, after almost six months since I started growing it, that the state of lockdown in the Peoples Republic of Victoria has come to an end, nor because it does not fit well behind the masks which have been mandated by our technocratic Premier when we set foot outside our homes.
Quite simply, I finally got sick of it.
Looking in the mirror after six months concealed behind a beard, it is almost the face of a stranger I am looking at, cheeks and jawline which I have become unused to, and which probably have changed a little with fluctuations in weight over that time. Or is it that I am paler than usual?