The Beard and the Burqa

I met Fatima, the bearded lady of Adliswil, this morning while out walking the snow covered mountain. She had a face like thunder altough its difficult to make out subtle facial expressions under that magnificent beard, it could just have been a touch of wind.

Anyway, I asked her what the matter was. Will I never learn. She was, she said, incandescent with rage because of a ruling by a Swiss court that a Muslim woman basketball player was not allowed to wear a headscarf when playing. This comes on top of a decision to ban the building of minarets. This was an attack on the Muslim community she said. "Would you wear a burqa?" I inquired. The answer was a resounding yes. I nodded sympathetically and said Fatima should follow her heart in this matter. I only said this because I believe that the world would be a far more attractive place if Fatima was covered from head to toe in a sheet.

I was about to say my goodbyes when I saw an avalanche heading down the mountain directly towards us. My whole life passed before my eyes, and what a disappointment it was. I must get out more.

My terrified mind tried to remember to do in case of an avalanche. What did my old scout master used to say when he called us boys in for his special after hours lessons?, bend over and relax. No that is no good, nip and tuck? no. Lie back and think of England?. I just could not remember.

As the wall of white swept towards us I was relieved to see it was not an avalanche. It was Fat Kath out for a walk dressed in a brilliant white Juicy Couture velour tracksuit. Kath saw us and had to start breaking some 50 metres away. She is very much like a supertanker when it comes to manoeverablity.

So there we were, we three, chewing the fat. I noticed that out of the three of us I was the one with the least facial hair. This is strange as I have been trying to grow a goatee beard for the last week.

There comes a time in every chap`s life when he has to prove to himself a man. As both jousting and pillaging are now largely frowned upon, war too dangerous and dwarf tossing outlawed in most parts of Switzerland, there are not many manly avenues left. And the wife loves it. This morning she compared me to Johnny Depp.

I asked Fat Kath if she would wear a burqa, more in hope than expectation. "I only wear Juicy Couture" she said. I left the bearded ladies discussing post natal stiching and headed home. I intend to write to Juicy Couture HQ to suggest they introduce a line, maybe Burqa Babes. Remember, you heard it hear first.