Meanwhile, In A Hobo Camp By The River …

Oh, lardycakes.

I like my boss. Don't get me wrong. He appears - outwardly at any rate - to be as sane as the next man, though that of course depends on who is standing beside him.
Any sane man, however, when faced with the concept of "Movember" would hold their head in their hands and groan with despair. My boss, however, pipes up with, "What a splendid idea! Come on, chaps! Let's do it as a team!" (Note: when your boss starts speaking with exclamation marks it's time to hide under your desk).

And so - with depressing inevitability - I get in to the office after the weekend to find a bunch of middle-aged men enthusiastically comparing stubble like a gang of four year olds playing Top Trumps.
We even have a name, God help us. The boss (again) messed around with the company name and came up with Team Furry And … er … Manly.
Yes, you read that right.
This is a man who it seems has never heard the phrase "homoerotic undertones" and who thinks irony means something like iron.
There will be prizes for the silliest moustaches. Men are for the first time talking of waxing without mentioning Brazil. A couple of the guys are horrified to discover their stubble is gingery but are determined to sculpt their shame into a Groucho or a Dali "for the team."

Sigh …
I tried to stop it. I really did. I even showed them a photo of me with a goatee, but other than a few blanched looks on the younger faces it had little effect.
I think the main problem is that none of us look like Johnny Depp, though several of them apparently believe they see him in the mirror.
Yesterday was a Cap'n Jack-fest. There have been "Arrrgh"s and "Shiver me timberrrrrs" floating around the office. They believe they look like a piratical crew of rascally rogues when in reality the room resembles nothing so much as a hobo encampment - admittedly a well-dressed one - an image made even more realistic by the piles of cardboard boxes the new monitors came in. All the office needs to complete the picture is a brazier and a couple of tents.

The women are lucky. They get to laugh at us and take photos. Fortunately nobody has been gauche enough to point out that a couple of them sport far more luxuriant moustaches than any of the pirate crew.

I managed to resist until Friday evening, when I was finally shamed into a cessation of shaving. Sheesh. I've said it before and no doubt I shall have occasion to say it again: "Verily, the gods do shit in mine hat and squish it down upon mine head."

Happy Movember, people. There may be photos later in the month but I sincerely hope not.
Roll on December the first.