In the name of everything that's holy! Gripped by tonsorial trepitude this morning, I thought I'd better dash over to Westworld Cross and get myself a new beard trimmer, so that I could smarten up the old soup strainer ahead of my lunch with Sir Alan today.
Naturally I always go for the celebrity brands, and Clever Trevor Sorbie's manicured my barnet a few times, so I shelled out for one of his. But as soon as I took it out of the box here at the old cliff top mansion, it became apparent that I wouldn't be the first person to use it.
Oh well, I haven't got time to go back and replace it, I'll just have to give it a rinse and pray to god that those actually are beard hairs, and not the result of one of the assistants at Boots giving herself a DIY Brazilian.
