Read on.
Before the Mufti Day raffle draw this lunchtime and in front of the whole secondary school a very important competition was judged, adjudicated upon and the winner announced. The Mufti Day Moustache Competition has become something much greater than simply the sprouting of facial hairs by a few willing and silly male teachers at my school. Analysis of styles, discussions of tactics and growth rates have been the hot topics for debate between participants over the past month. Colleagues have stopped colleagues in the corridors and compared efforts and those choosing not to participate have kept themselves as involved as they can via the medium excited questions and encouragement.
As a first time competitor I decided that the best tactic would be to cultivate the raw material first and then decide what style to wear my moustache in once in full possession of the necessary hair-ware. In short, I grew a beard. I have only had two previous attempts at beard growth: once at university when playing the part of a wise and bewhiskered Norwegian expert in the theatre of Henrik Ibsen (by the character name of Sven Erikson) and then secondly on a Summer tour of Norway when I simply could not be bothered to scrape my face each day. This beard then was a double first: my first competitive beard and first non Norwegian beard. And it was a remarkably simple process. All I had to do was lie in bed for an extra five minutes each day and nature did the rest.
However beard growth is not a matter to taken lightly. It is fully of potential dangers and pitfalls. I discovered that in lessons, while listening to and watching my students perform, my left hand was drawn to my face in order to rub and massage my growing hairs. I quickly discovered that I needed to effect a quizzical expression to accompany the facial rubbing so as to look like I was actually listening to what my charges were contributing instead of simply being thought of as a member of beard fondlers anonymous. I was afflicted by a similar rubbing urge when driving. An automatic transmission car partially helped matters but on the long return drive to Singapore I needed my wits about me and cursed my left hand for straying from wheel to face. A final factor to consider when contemplating facial hair is the reaction of one's partner. Lexi quickly decided that although my growing beard didn't look too bad she was not that keen on being close to it. Perhaps in areas of rapid population growth beards could be prescribed by the authorities as a means of natural birth control along with television sets and long working hours.
Decision day and action day was yesterday, at 10.30pm to be precise. I had considered a shave on Wednesday evening but due to forgetting to buy cans of silly string for Bugsy Malone splurge guns I decided to shop instead of scrape. Last night with the children in bed following a super long, extra value day that also included teaching three lessons, attending one training meeting, running a rehearsal, sorting out trip bookings, drinking my 9.00am coffee at 12.45pm, taking Trixie to see the boys sing in a choir to the Finnish Ambassador at a hotel in central KL (as you do), getting children to bed at 9.40pm and talking to Lexi as she arrived home from her Christmas show later than me, I decided it was time for a shave.
At midnight I flopped into bed with less facial hair but now sporting a drooping moustache and lamb chop side burns to complement the bags under my eyes.
I walked into my shared tutor group this morning to "whoa"-type noises from my year ten joint charges. Teachers will understand there are many noises that classes make instead of resorting to the often cumbersome use of words and this "whoa" was a "we are impressed" noise.
And so to the all important judging. Fifteen teachers and sixth formers were soon whittled down to three finalists by the panel of experts, the panel being led by a two-time winner of the much coveted title. Those who were asked to leave the stage were tapped on the shoulder by the lead expert and it was with some sympathy and a small lump in my throat that I commiserated with my department colleague as he trudged, slightly dejectedly, from the stage. His day will come of that I have no doubt. Other hairy men left moustache by moustache until there were just three: a hairy year thirteen student sporting an upper lip and lower chin combination that was respectable for a lad of his tender years; a particularly hairy colleague who had managed to produce a lush, dark, swarthy number with a mirroring chin covering; and me. The tension was almost unbearable. As finalists we quickly agreed that just getting to the last three was a victory in itself. The chief judge asked one of us to step forward, one to step backward and one to remain in their place. The moments ticked by. The audience was on edge. And then the result was announced...
"And the winner is ... Mr Lawrence!"
Celebratory handshakes all round and high-fives with the kids as I returned to my seat and considered how I could get "2013 Mufti Day Moustache Champion" seamlessly into my CV.
The prize? Well apart from bragging rights there was none. And I am really glad that there wasn't a prize. The best prize for this whole competition thing has been to go round to clumps of kids at breaks and in lessons explaining why exactly I and others have been growing facial hair. Many have heard of Movember and they had all heard of the school's mufti day. But not many of them knew what Movember actually did. They didn't know that we were raising money for research into male cancers in Malaysia. They were unaware that men could get breast cancer and they all seemed taken aback a bit when I mentioned testicles and cancer in the same sentence. My school has found a men's health organisation in Malaysia to send money to and I hope that the students and staff who put more then RM 350 into my collection envelope are as pleased with the fundraising result as I am. Thanks everyone.
It is great to have a bald face again, though.