A remedy for society's ills

So while the government fumbles around trying to decide which recipe of "same old shit" to serve the country in the aftermath of last week's rioting – almost certainly with a squirt of "...but worse" topping – I've taken matters into my own hands.

I am challenging the sick culture of the early 21^st century by growing a big bushy handlebar moustache.

Now, I know that this is does not fall anywhere on the conventional left-right spectrum of "what to do" responses that have been aired in the last few days, which has generally covered the more familiar options from "give them more free stuff" to "spray nerve gas on them".

To that my answer is – so much the worse for conventional left-right distinctions. I'm growing a moustache and you can interpret that however you want. It's not retro. It's not ironic. If Eugene Hutz can do it and still be this cool, why can't I?

Throughout history men have had the freedom to grow all sorts of crazy hair on their faces and get away with it. The 19^th century and the first half of the 20^th century represent the apex of this trend.

The Second World War killed off a lot of moustaches. Most effectively, I suppose, by killing an awful lot of people with moustaches. Perhaps – as with the British car industry - the critical mass of skills was lost. Perhaps after all that, shaping a moustache seemed rather pointless.

Some moustaches died by the company they kept. The toothbrush moustache of Charlie Chaplin and Oliver Hardy never escaped its association with Hitler, although his equally-distinctive side parting got away with it – eerily paralleling the respective roles of Jade Goody and Danielle Lloyd in the 2007 Celebrity Big Brother race row.

Just ten years ago, it was fairly unusual to see anyone with facial hair below the age of 30. But today, one just has to look around to see acres of sparse, wispy, "is it or isn't it?" beard adorning the faces of pasty youths, clad in their androgynous uniform of nerd glasses, jeggings and ballet shoes. Something, I fear, has been lost to the meaning of the moustache in this barrage of bumfluff.

Reclaiming the moustache fills me with not a little apprehension. I can't help but think that in taking this step, I am making a very significant statement. People are going to make assumptions about my politics, my personality and my sexual proclivities on the basis of what's on my upper lip as soon as I start waxing it. At best, I'm going to be called "eccentric"...

Still, I'm married, I've got two kids, I have a decent job and I have the self-confidence to look like Friedrich Nietzsche – what do I care what conclusions strangers leap to about me?

I REJECT the tyranny of conformism.

Thus spake Zarathustra.