Of course, for he is short and kinda sorta fubsy and sports some serious facial fungus. It is all quite perfect, for I could never smooch a somebody beardy. It hurts. I had one mate at University who had very soft and furry designer stubble, but he was exceptional - and looking at Giles Coren, one just knows that his beardiness is scratchy, just like you know about suralun's. Another mate - this one female with the soft beardless skin that that so frequently implies - has a husband of a bearded type, and her face is always reddened and rough around her mouth and chin. "Chronic beard-burn," she explains.
But he bounces about being full of beans and any other nosh he can neck, having far too much energy and eating - really - like a stevedore. Also I think he is really REALLY cocky. Together with his constant limited flirtation with Sue Perkins I find that very comforting.
However, there is no need to stop at Giles Coren - not for me, at least - for it is summer now, and Wimbledon is here, with the great joy that is the international tennis circuit. WONDER at The Great British Hope's hopeless haircut, as he has a wedge at the back and an outgrown flat top at the front. GAWP at the Returning Champion's continuing passion for dark coloured underwear in defiance of the transparent combi of Wimbledon's all white dress code and sweating 2 buckets per hour. LAUGH at the ridiculous behaviour of all and sundry when they are surprised by any form of weather - newspaper hats on hot days, expressions of continuing surprise on rainy ones. I love the summer.
Another way I can tell it's summer is I'm so easily pleased. Everything is great. I like Doctor Who, I can't get over how much I enjoyed a DVD about a pig-faced girl, and indeed another about a group of Americans reading Jane Austen. Must be the Vitamin D. I am even pleased by my friend's choice of name for her new daughter*; just love the summer. Even when it rains.
* Penelope, Jane Austen Book Club, Sasha
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