Despite the fact that I work for a charity, it struck me recently that I haven’t really done much for good causes until now. Working and volunteering are two entirely different things.
With that in mind and the apathy I seem to have developed towards shaving at sociably acceptable intervals since becoming a dad, I have decided to join forces with three mates at work and participate in Movember next month.
For those who have never heard of it before, Movember encourages men to grow a ‘mo’ to raise money for male cancer charities.
I’ve always found it amusing that the main fundraising event that women take part in – Race for Life – entails getting fit and running around, while this event is nowhere near as strenuous: it’s all about us men making less of an effort than we usually would with our appearance.
The idea is that I start the month with a face as smooth as a baby’s proverbial and end up with a hairy upper lip, hopefully raising both funds and awareness in the process.
I don’t have any qualms about the fact that I am going to look ridiculous. Embarrassment is something that really used to bother me until I actually had a scare a few years ago.
Being a mostly sensible sort, I gritted my teeth and got it checked out. I had to have an ultrasound you know where. It was quite undignified and the bloke who carried it out had no sense of humour, so my ill-advised attempts at lightening the mood were shot down and I felt even more anxious.
Thankfully it turned out to be nothing to worry about, but for a week or two I was absolutely terrified. It wasn’t a pleasant experience, but I’m glad I did it. I suppose, in hindsight, the dialogue between me and the radiographer was kind of amusing. It went something like this.
Him: Mr Briggs?
Me: Yes, that’s me.
Him (to entire waiting room): My name is Sergei. I will examine your testicles.
Me: But we’ve just met!
Me: (Now in scan room) I’m a bit nervous about this…
Him: (Prolonged silence) Take off your trousers and pants and hold your penis under this paper towel.
Me: Okay (Lying back and thinking of England)
Him: There’s one, there’s the second…
Me: Ha ha! It’s like the supermarket – buy one get one free! (twat)
Him: (Yet another prolonged silence) Phone your doctor for the results next Monday.
Conclusive proof that a poor bedside manner and English buffoonery don’t mix well.
Anyway, that is my story and if you would like to sponsor me and my even dafter than usual face, you can do so by visiting my Movember page.