This comes up in conversation every now and then. Especially when I haven't shaved for a few days. Here we have "Self-portrait with facial hair, London, England, 8 May 1997".
I arrived in London on 29 November 1996, worked a month, then ran away to Scotland for Hogmanay. I can't remember when I stopped shaving, but it was around then. I spent a couple of weeks in Scotland and a couple of months in Ireland, before getting back to London early April.
I got another bar job - cos they're really easy to find - and spent about four weeks in the middle of Soho serving mainly really boring folk. The manager fired me for not doing tasks he never told me to do. But he was a prick, a racist bigot, who happily tipped the beer drippings back into the kegs, and poured cheap spirits into expensive bottles. I was happy to leave.
At the beginning of May I got another bar job - cos they're really easy to find. This time in Battersea/Lavender Hill. I stayed there until it was time to go to Copenhagen in June or July.
The above photo was taken the day I moved to Battersea and shaved. It is the result of five months growth. Sad. Really sad.
And the hair and the glasses are pretty ghastly too.
Oh the humanity.
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