Day 76: I Go To Canterbury, And Blame A Toothy Fish For Poor Facial Hair

Regular readers will be aware of the astonishing fact that whenever I go on holiday, however brief, I am bombarded by dioramas featuring models with scabby facial hair. As I only ever go on holiday to France, I was convinced that this was a particularly French disease, and one almost solely confined to the Château d'Ussé in the Loire valley. But no. For the good burghers of Canterbury seem to be unable to see with their eyes when confronted by a man-size model in a small museum.

What has happened to this chap's eyebrows and moustache? (I must apologise for the quality of the photography; I was distracted by sweat running wetly down the back of my neck.)





And look at this poor chap - a WW1 soldier, no less, with a tache made from a caterpillar that has been divested of its internal organs and soaked in Grecian 2000.
















The reason for this sorrowful display of facial hair is simple. Had I not been distracted by this cheerful toothy fish swimming purposelessly in its display case (who looks like no-one I know, but was amusing enough), I might have noticed a donation box in the entrance hall. And had I seen the donation box, I would have slipped in a fiver (enough to buy a pot of Copydex and some badger bristles). But no. Because of this fish, the models in the Buff Regimental Museum will stand proudly, their moustaches and eyebrows falling off, for the rest of eternity.