The Family Moustache

Addendum: I've since had it confirmed by my mother that the gentleman in the picture below is my maternal great-grandfather not paternal and has therefore been identified as Henry Hyde and not, as previously stated, Arthur Benjamin Olorenshaw.

There are some synchronicities that stretch down through the ages. Eye shape, cheek bones, crooked toes. Physical and biological DNA fingerprints that are passed on at the cellular level. Familial biometrics. A lottery that we have no choice about but find ourselves born with. Ooh you have your mother’s eyes, etc.

But then there are others. The physical, the biological traits that we do choose.

Confused? Think of the moustache.

Yes. Think of it. Stroke it. Caress it in your mind.

It grows quite naturally but with the technology of the modern world keeping it is a personal choice. To beard or not to beard. Hirsute you, sir.

I first allowed my face to be graced with facial hair in my early twenties. I sported a full on beard and tache. Not quite the Brian Blessed aurora bristlyaris but coupled with my waist length hair it gave me a full on Bejasus look that the locals kids would daily feel compelled to comment upon. Little tykes. Ah bless.

And then, sometimes in my thirties, my marvellous continent of beard began to be invaded with white hairs. Lots of them. I’ve never been one for the badger look (“as rough as a badger’s arse” is my favourite expression – wouldn’t be good to have a facsimile of one on my face) so I elected with the help of my good lady girlfriend (now my good lady wife) to trim the beard into something a little more sporty. To drop the people carrier in favour of an MG.

The result was an entirely separate moustache and goatee (although I can grow them “joined up” I choose not to). I’ve had it for years now and it feels very much “me”.

So it was rather comforting whilst digitally scanning some of my grandparent’s old photographs into the computer to come across this picture of my great-granddad, Henry Hyde:

Check the tache. That’s mine, that is. To a T. I know other people had moustaches in those days but not everyone did. Old Henry H made an aesthetic choice regarding his whiskers that I have matched over a hundred years later. It’s a tenuous link I know but it is beefed up by the fact that the structure of his face quite closely mirrors my own. Both Karen and I can see a likeness to me within the sepia definitions of a face that I never ever saw firsthand.

I feel a sense of connection. A bond. A correlation in what constitutes good face furniture. Separated by a hundred years of family and global history our moustaches bristle proudly from the same town in the same country... in the same shape.

The family moustache is alive and well.

Rest assured, when the time comes I shall ensure that it is passed onto my sons and carried forward, cleaned and possibly waxed, into all perpetuity.

Make the most of those naked top lips, boys, ‘cos they won’t be that way forever.

Hairy Cakes

Apart from Gary Rhodes TV chefs don’t as a rule annoy me.

Mainly because I find there’s something pleasantly soporific about watching someone cook. I guess it harkens back to the days when, as a boy, I’d watch my gran makes cakes and pies in her 1970’s deluxe kitchen. Even now, watching a Victoria sponge being lightly dusted with icing sugar just puts me in a good mood for the entire day and relaxes me into a state of goodwill to all men.

So a TV chef has to go a long way then to fully upset my apple cart.

Cue Simon King and David Myers, the two halves of which don’t quite comprise a whole in the shape of the BBC’s Hairy Bikers.

I’m gritting my teeth at the mere thought of them.

Their shtick seems to be that they’re hairy. They ride bikes. They’re Geordies. And they cook.

In that order.

Inscrutably, Karen likes them (hence this is how they find their way onto my HD-unready telly). And on the face of it they’re inoffensive enough. But for some unspecifiable reason they irritate the colon out of me.

They are essentially The Chuckle Brothers with beards and bikes. A male version of the Two Fat Ladies (and let’s face it, Clarissa Dickson Wright and Jennifer Paterson were practically bearded anyway).

They’re cooking isn’t particularly stunning in my opinion. It’s all a bit... pedestrian (which is very ironic given that they spend most of their time with their be-leathered thighs wrapped around the throbbing engines of their gleaming hogs).

It’s all a bit “blokey” and “roadie” and not expertly enough “chefy”.

But maybe that’s the point? Maybe they’re trying to get more blokey blokes to cook? An admirable campaign if ever there was one but there’s something ineffably flat and wishy-washy about the pair of them. And yes that is a deliberate pantomime reference. The pair of them could don dresses and it wouldn’t look at all weird. Unattractive. But not weird.

Hmm. I don’t know about you but I’ve never seen the Hairy Bikers and the Two Fat Ladies in the same room together at the same time... though of course Jennifer Paterson’s death in 1998 shoots a rather large hairy hole in that theory.

I guess my biggest complaint about the hairy bikers is quite simply... the hair. Their jaw-lines and top lips are just too hirsute to make their food at all palatable. And this is from someone who is himself bearded. It’s very off-putting to watch them sinking their molars into a double crust yak and leek pastie and then try and sing it’s praises to the camera as flakes and shards of pastry and meat hang loosely in their beards and moustaches like miniature trapeze artists trying to escape from a Russian circus.

The inside of their helmets must look and taste like a Subway deli counter.

Oh please, people. A double entendre was not intended...

I Fought The Law...

Karen and I are greatly enjoying Murphy’s Law at the moment. The script is dense, fast paced, full of twists and has James Nesbitt’s immaculately groomed moustache bristling all over it.

I must admit to liking James Nesbitt hugely. Not in that way you understand but in a “hey respect, dude” kind of way. Over the years he’s proved to be one of the UK’s most versatile actors. In every role I’ve seen him in he’s been believable... which, I’m sure you’ll agree, is rather an essential quality in an actor. The James Nesbitt persona doesn’t ever get in the way of whatever part he happens to be playing at the time.

This is no mean feat especially when, over the years, his playing of so many cheeky-chappie, quip-a-minute characters has written the James Nesbitt persona large all over the nation’s psyche.

Recently though he’s been developing a much harder edge – and I’m not just referring to the brutally chopped precipice of his lip brush. Jekyll saw him delving into Jack Nicholson territory with gusto – staring eyes, sharp teeth and “daddy’s home” vocalizations. His current outing as Murphy though sees him exploring something a lot darker and far more real... Jekyll’s appetites were too fantastic and too over-stretched to be truly scary. But Murphy is up against very commonplace desires that are no less damaging or less repulsive for all their regrettable regularity in our society. People smuggling, prostitution, rape, drugs... it’s a world we see portrayed quite often on our TV screens either through police dramas or documentaries... but Murphy’s Law has managed to reclaim the shock element of such activities. That’s pretty good going in an age of desensitizing video games and shlock-horror flicks for the under 12’s.

Murphy is a dour, insular, dangerously frenetic character with a tache like a Mexican bandido and Nesbitt walks a tightrope over the chasm of caricature with true grace and true grit. He hijacks the screen and carries the whole drama forward with a presence that commands our undivided attention. Nesbitt is at full stretch for the entire duration and doesn’t even break a sweat. It’s impressive to watch. I’m totally hooked.

Here’s hoping that Murphy’s tache scimitar will make a quick return to our tellies very soon.... and not just because I happen to possess one of my own...

The Tache Ten

Ten things you can do with the amazingly prehensile moustache of Dick Strawbridge, the Rex of Recycling on the BBC’s It’s Not Easy Being Green...

1) Weave the bristles into an amazingly robust kagoule that preserves body heat, protects against rain and allows you to strain homemade vegetable soup through the fabulously glossy fibres.

2) Wax, plait into spikes and imbed in the bottom of a freshly dug pit. Dick’s excellently nourished follicles are well known for having the strength to impale wild boars and grizzly bears upon the razor sharp points of their split ends.

3) Placed against a tree at an angle of 45 degrees Dick’s face curtain can be made into a makeshift bivouac when you are caught outside in the hostile elements unprepared. Dick’s heavy nasal breathing will also act as a comforting heat source. Be careful not to light a campfire though!

4) Carefully removed from Dick’s top lip and preserved in quick hardening resin the mighty moustache of manliness can be utilized as a highly effective boomerang. Not only will it break the neck of any passing kangaroo but it will also catch a shed load of witchetty grubs within its fur matting. A main course and dessert – what more could you ask for?

5) Finely chopped and added to a crucible containing iron ore, fired to a few thousand degrees Celsius and tempered in spring water for several days the resulting tensile-intensive blade can be worked and sharpened into an edge so sharp it can cut through the dimension of Time itself. It’s also great for skinning rabbits and paring fingernails.

6) Removed whole and the upper portion glued to a strip of elastic Dick’s hairy slug makes a quick and easy replacement for damaged or besmirched underpants. It fits all sizes and is completely unisex. Due to its patented maximum ventilation technology the Dick Pants will keep your bits and bobs cool and comfortable. Also doubles as a handy brush for the safe removal of winnits.

7) Chopped into half inch lengths and attached to a piece of chewing gum the resultant mini brush can be fastened to any handy vibrator to become a highly efficient electric toothbrush. Useful when pursuing a hot date or pitching product at a high powered business meeting when you’ve been foolhardy enough to have taken the garlic and onion salad option for lunch.

8) Mixed with mud and river clay, the resultant wattle and daub can be used to caulk damaged canoes, fishing boats and Trans-Atlantic cruise ships to protect them against water incursion, barnacle build up and terrorist attack. It is also guaranteed iceberg proof.

9) Diced in a Kenwood and added to a concoction of oysters, chocolate and Drambuie this highly potent potion will have the desired object of your lust eating out of your hand and wanting you to stroke them with your own bodily love follicles... simply add a couple of drops to a glass of wine or as the topping to a baked potato and your wicked way will be had. Hey, it works for Dick. Allegedly.

10) Feeling rather breast heavy? Super strength cantilevered endurance bra finally failed you? Simply tie the ends of Dick’s moustache together at the back of your neck and rest your nellies in the resultant bap hammock. The moustacho-bra can be removed from Dick’s top lip to make it more portable or if desired can be left attached so that Dick’s happy go-lucky mouth can act as a heatsink, thus keeping you cool as well as advising you on the best way to go green and save the environment as your boobs are transported safely and stylishly with you wherever you may chance to go. A similarly arranged nob hammock is currently at the testing stage of production.

Curtains For Dick

Dick Strawbridge must surely have the biggest moustache in the UK. It’s bristlingly humungous.

So humungous in fact I wouldn’t be surprised to see it part down the middle to reveal Tommy Trinder on the London Palladium stage shouting out good ol’ cockney rhyming gags about his mother-in-law getting her dumplings trapped in Mrs Rawlin's washboard at number 35.

I’m convinced that in an emergency Dick’s mighty moustache actually fans out 360 degrees around the central pivot of his nose to become a shiny conker-coloured radar dish that links up with his (homemade) GPS system and allows Dick to accurately pinpoint his exact whereabouts to within one hair follicle of his impressively groomed hair curtain.

Does the man sleep with his nose in a grow-bag? How the hell does he get his tache so big? I swear to God that in the new series of It’s Not Easy Being Green it appears to have grown another 2 foot in length. Any longer and Dick will turn into Cousin Itt from the Addams Family.

How does he kiss his wife? Does he have to pin it up behind his ears with hair-clips?

Despite – or maybe because of – Dick’s top-lip hirsuteness I find him incredibly engaging viewing. Most people know him from his incessant victories on Scrapheap Challenge; so constant was his success I believe that in the end the show’s producers had to ask him to stop entering so that other lesser mortals could stand a chance of winning occasionally. The man is undoubtedly a green gadget genius. And fair play to him, I say.

The only thing that genuinely puzzles me about Dick is how on earth an ex army Lieutenant Colonel with a fulsome military moustache can: (a) be so jolly, easy going, level-headed and humane and (b) have such a yoghurt-weaving, bangle-wearing, hippie peacenik family?

Does Dick’s moustache have holistic, world-healing powers that the Ministry of Defence doesn't know about?