It is November already, when a moment ago it was summer. Or maybe a little longer than a moment. But not much. And before you know it –
So it goes. The rain is still coming down, seemingly not dampening the spirits of hardy folk exploding fireworks outside. Night comes early now, the drawing in of the year.
At work, they are growing moustaches. Not all of them, but a few. Perhaps I should have joined in. But I found it a mildly traumatic experience when I tried a couple of years ago: I spent the month worrying about how it looked, and how to get people to sponsor me. And, to tell the truth, there was not much to show for it, either in terms of whiskers or money, by the end of the month. And I find it is difficult when other people are so keen: the clamour and raucousness wears me down. You would have thought growing a moustache was a quiet, solitary experience. But no.
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