Friday, 18 October 2013

Hair wee go

I spent a large part of this week working in that London.

But you can only put the toil in for so many hours in the day. And when it gets dark, you must make time to reflect.

In such circumstances, it's time to call for Wee Beardie John.

We were joined for a bit by Wee Beardie John's equally furry mate, Hairy Hippie John (average size).

And also by Wee Beardie John's dear wee brother, Wee Charlie (aka Uncle Pig), who seemed keen to point out his sideburn.

At least I think that's what his gesture meant.

Later in the evening, we retired to Wee Beardie John's wee flat to admire his all-white wee work shirt collection.

Wee Beardie John argues that he "shouldn't change a winning look." I would argue that, rather than his dubious claim to be "an accountant," he's either a wee waiter or Britain's smallest security guard. 

There's nothing wrong with that, but the truth must come out. Because no one likes a wee beardie fibber.