It’s Movember

These days, the month of November only means one thing for a group of grown men up and down Britain. It is time to grow a moustache in the name of solidarity and to raise awareness for cancers that effect men.

Other people I have spoken to have been planning on the style there going to have already. I’ll settle simply for a moustache. Any sort of moustache. Please.

This year I, along with some of the other DJs on Manchester Radio Online, have decided to sign up, leaving me with a few major problems.

First of all, my facial hair is rubbish. I usually don’t let it grow longer than stubble, but in the past when I have forgotten and let it grow, the results have been less than impressive. What builds up as decent looking stubble turns into the worst beard/moustache combo in the history of the universe, with all of the hairs growing in opposite directions and being distanced apart from each other. For some reason, I get more hair on my cheeks than I do my upper lip. This just infuriates me. I’m not a cat, I don’t need whiskers.

Secondly, and more annoyingly, the people that I am partaking in this month of moustaches with all have thick beards that they can re-grow overnight meaning that for them a healthy looking moustache is a piece of cake. To counter-act this I was planning on having a head-start.

“You’re not allowed a head-start, that’s against the rules” I was told.

I looked at my mate Dan, dumfounded. “It is, there’s rules, you’ve got to be clean shaven at the start of the month and see where it goes from there”

This creates a problem. The month of November will be by a clear margin the longest I have let my facial hair grow, but what if it still isn’t enough? What if I let men down everywhere by growing the worst moustache ever?

Other people I have spoken to have been planning on the style there going to have already. I’ll settle simply for a moustache. Any sort of moustache. Please.With all of the insecurities going around my head, last night I made my way to the bathroom for the last day of October shave. The walk to the bathroom felt like the green mile.

Now I’m not trying to compare being worried about growing a moustache to being on death row, but if you were on death row with a bad moustache, no-one would see you so there’s nothing to worry about.

Part of me can’t help but think I have signed myself up for a lose-lose situation. If my tache is awful I’m a laughing stock, if my tache becomes fully-fledged, I’m a man with a moustache. Let’s see what happens. uk.movember.com