My beard thanks you for your kind words. It celebrated its 33rd birthday last Christmas. I woke up on Christmas morning 1974 and didn't feel like shaving, and I haven't felt like shaving ever since. My wife has never seen me without the beard, and I will take it with me to my grave.
Of course, not shaving that day was not much of a decision, since I already had enormous muttonchops (patillas) and hair down to my shoulders. It was merely a matter of adding the moustache (bigote) and a few centimeters of chin hair.
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I had to laugh at the story of your 33-year-old beard, Bob. It is quite shapely at this point, a certain roundness that adds solemnity in that Cangues d'Onis thumbnail. Ain't just a beard, but almost a frame of reference and a repository of meaning. Also funny that it's the product of, mainly, an indolent morning...
As for Mary Shelley, have you seen Gonzalo Suarez's film about Frankenstein, filmed in one of those counties of East Asturias, not sure if it's Llanes? It's an 80s film, I think, but quite nice. And if I'm not entirely wrong, I recall Hugh Grant playing the role of a Byron-type character.
As for Mary Shelley, have you seen Gonzalo Suarez's film about Frankenstein, filmed in one of those counties of East Asturias, not sure if it's Llanes? It's an 80s film, I think, but quite nice. And if I'm not entirely wrong, I recall Hugh Grant playing the role of a Byron-type character.
- Bob
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No, I haven't seen the film (which is named "Rowing with the Wind"), but I'm going to order it on Netflix tonight. I hope I can recognize some of the scenery.
And yes, the beard has become part of my innermost identity. My father and my grandfather had moustaches at one time or another, and my Asturian great-grandfather had a full beard.
And yes, the beard has become part of my innermost identity. My father and my grandfather had moustaches at one time or another, and my Asturian great-grandfather had a full beard.