Friday, 24 August 2012

Pimp my Beard Season 2 Round 1:


The Commuter



Mirror Mirror on the wall, who's got the dopest moustache of them all? The answer, yet another of the boisterously bearded young men to be found delivering their portfolios to offices of PMB in recent months, Andrew "The Commuter" Bell. Known to many as the Casanova of the Circle and District, Bell takes A to B travel to unprecedentedly dashing new heights. Personally holding the London Underground Zones 1 and 2 record for most head's turned per journey and rumoured to Banksy's muse, Bell poses for us here in the full splendor of his chosen habitat. Behind the camera, I was witness to a scene that tells the story of the power of this facial finess more aptly than I could ever describe. Mere seconds after clicking shoot on my Sony Cybershot DSC HV7X, an Eastern European lady and her tall friend, attracted by the play of the strip lighting as it's rays danced across Bell's silken tache, looked full on into the beam of his gaze and passed out in pure 1950's cinematic theatre. Naturally, Bell was swiftly across the carriage to fan the assortedly sized ladies with his t-shirt that he had removed with a artful whipping motion. The cool and sweet scented air soon revived the ladies who thanked him in graciously stupefied murmurs before losing consciousness once more. This was beardery at its most smoldering - give him an inch and he'll take your grandmother.

Monday, 20 August 2012

Pimp My Beard is Back! Season 2 Round 1

Judgement Day



Do I smell barbeque? Newcomer to PMB, Jonathan "The Juggernaut" Cartwright, swings into town  exhibiting some decidedly post apocalyptic panache. Disarmingly honest, Cartwright tells us, 'It was an accident! I once saw a young shepherd hand refused a cider at Chesire Inn. The prodigious rascal reappeared some minutes later with a highly relaxed caterpillar slung from his top lip designed, no doubt, to give himself the impression of being an older, more beardly endowed chap. He was immediately spotted for an imposter and duly sent packing. To this day, I have been struck by both his impish initiative and by how on earth he contrived to balance the creature, danglingly lazily from his lip, whilst matter of factly inquiring about the cellar temperature of the cider.  This was precisely the moustachioed impudence I hoped to recreate when given my bow on PMB. Imagine my disbelief when my quivering travel mirror revealed that I had unwittingly inscribed armageddon around my mouth and chin!'
   Indeed, anyone familiar with the work of Liv Tyler will no doubt understand the duel horrors of having their feuding father and finacee in space, battling against an asteroid on a collision course with earth, soon to herald the end of days. Portraying this on screen was a remarkable achievement. But reproducing such biblical foreboding's on one's face, albeit coincidentally, takes balls. Juggernaut, we, the humble folk of PMB, salute you.

Thursday, 17 May 2012


The Time We Met 


Coming from where we came,
We’d seen a thing or two,
Could give a thing its name.
We’d grown in field and town,
Semi-detached from the playgrounds
Through which our playdough personalities
Had so far been squeezed.
We had survived the barbs of adolescence,
Would tease out the thorns.


We were exuberant.
With spliffs and student bank accounts to burn,
We set out, twenty strong,
Rambled down florescent streets,
Reorganising traffic cones and road signs.
We marveled at sound reflected on a domed pub ceiling;
Catching snippets of other people’s conversations,
We drank to our omnipotence,
And deftly ignored our ignorance.
We’d learnt new words and wanted to use them,
Like teleological, spectrographic, djuvet and blup.
We dragged ourselves, bleary eyed to seminar and lecture,
We quoted, extrapolated, deduced and conversed,
We spoke with authority on subjects diverse,
Over “ities” and “isms” we’d argue and curse,
Hated to back down and exchanged harsh words,
That were soon forgotten
Amid the hangovers we’d nurse.


We gleefully jumped into one another’s skins,
And bounded to music recently made our own.
We watched new favourite films,
Scoured art for significance,
Ate and learnt how to cook -
Cue Andy, he wrote us the book.
We swapped clothes and opinions,
And borrowing authors,
We frantically tattooed ourselves, with each other’s passions.
We binged on naivety,
Said things that might now make us cringe,
But we were open,
And listened to life stories with earnest ears.
Identifying and truth defying,
We stacked experiences with our own,
Played Jenga in the kitchen sink,
And laughed with delight,
To toss a coin into an unguarded drink.


We were maturing fast;
Half obeyed cleaning rotas,
And realised all the lies they told us at school.
We dropped childish prejudice;
Talked to strangers, read newspapers, accepted vegetables,
And felt pretty grown up about it.
We paid bills and insulted landlords,
Destroyed the house, but cleaned up afterwards.
We heard the thundering hooves of deadlines,
And ate biscuits -
Got jobs to pay for taste the difference.
We approached problems with reason and clarity:
How to hide a stain, get an extension?
How to film the girls and their girls only party?
Awoke from a long night,
To find we’d borrowed a board room door.
Scratched our heads, fashioned a table
And played ping pong forevermore.


In quiet moments, we looked back to where we started.
Had charged blindly down roads now clearly marked,
To arrive here. With coins tossed and decisions near,
We thought of our futures and flipped between ideas.
Paths branching out to potential failure,
If we walked up one could we walk up another?
The old adage guided those who knew it -
You can do most anything, if you put your mind to it.
Only first you had to work out what to do,
Who to be and how to go about your business.
From one another we got different views,
Got courage, love, trust and forgiveness.
Got calm words when we couldn’t think straight,
Leant on each other and saw the marks we make.
Felt hands on shoulders,
Over which we watched as we painted each other’s portraits.
Watched them grow and shimmer,
As we proudly hung them by our mirrors.

Sunday, 15 May 2011

Snippy Snaps






If you've enjoyed this goat, you can see more here.

Pimp my Beard: Round 6

Mad Dog

In this, the last of the current series of PMB, Browning suspects he bought the extra strong Fisherman's Friends instead of the normal strength ones he usually likes. This is a beard that requires pastel fresh breath: a cool, take five inhalation before I smash your suburb dwelling face in then lecture you on crop rotation. Grown in semi arid shrub land, this is doing a crossword puzzle in your own blood, this, is Mad Dog.


Wednesday, 13 April 2011

Snapple Paps


Click here and scroll down.

Pimp My Beard: Round 5 (with special guest appearance)

 Lip Candy

Nissan jets in from London, England to give us a taste of his casual/trim Lip Candy. 
"Lip Candy" says Nissan, "is a look I wanted to bring to Pimp My Beard ever since I first read about it the Sunday Times Supplement. We`ve seen many original, one might even say, prodigous beards in the previous rounds and while I enjoyed their chameleonic lustre, a part of me was screaming out, 'Don`t forget your roots! Don`t forget your history!' So I was delighted when the organisers offered me this spot to show young beard and beardery enthusiasts that a bold, slap in the face with a gold brick wrapped in a slice of lemon moustache still carries a strong statement in the modern era." Indeed an intransient moustache, this is a look that says on the one hand, 'This is just something I threw on before I left the house' and on the other, 'Yes, I'll have the filet mignon.' 

 Benson & Hedges
Browning takes advantage of this reflective surface to deftly sport the Benson & Hedges. A look that caters for swimming pools, large water basins such as you might find in a restraunt or soya processing plant, the sea, salt flats and the hard of hearing. The Benson & Hedges whispers slithery introspections in the ear. A look for self re-discovery, remodeling, finding the inner bank robber, taxidermist or late 18th century rural pastor.
Looking for yourself? Look no further than the Benson & Hedges.