Confessions of a bearded burbler ...

No, it's not Rex Hunt reporting live here from JB HQ. Yours truly may be sporting a temporary beard but apart from a love of footy and facial hair, I really can't be compared to the great man as I don't have a booming voice and I haven't paid women in return for extra marital favours. People have asked why I've decided not to use a razor or a lawn mower to fell that flourishing facial forest and I've responded with a number of answers ranging from "can't be bothered" to ''it's a tribute to my friends with fur on their faces". You know, that travelling twosome, Murfuoso and Geezer, as seen on this here blog, with beards.

But aside from coming back to a clean house, Murfuoso returned to work today after a four-week break Stateside with a wedding ring but minus the trademark beard. Meanwhile, Fitzroy North's most famous English resident, Geezer, proud owner of the Gilbomobile, had returned from Byron Bay without two things starting with the letter 'W': women and whiskers. Or is that the letter 'F': females and fuzz? The letter 'B': babes and bristles? Whatever it is, it's another first, I'm sure.

Anyway, so here I am, stuck in a whiskered wilderness. Does it stay or does it go? You can leave a comment - I haven't decided to stop people from doing so ... yet. It's not a life-or-death decision and things could be worse. Consider Ronald McDonald. If having your ear licked by a drunk journo in one of his suburban hamburger restaurants during the early hours of the morning wasn't enough, I now see Ronald McDonald could be sent to jail. Now, I don't know, but maybe he needs a beard. Pronto. With fries. And a Coke.