Moustaches are odd things. I’ve written about these tonsorial aberrations before. You can only really get away with them if you’re a biker or a colonel.

Or a local councillor. At election time you see posters everywhere for encumbent or would be candidates. An alarming number of the faces have moustaches – or mustaches as our American friends would write.

Local councillors are a bit like the police or traffic wardens. They never seem to live where you do. Where do they live? In a parallel universe perhaps, or perhaps birds of a feather do indeed stay together, preferring their own company.

So I suppose we define ourselves and our company by either choosing to wear a moustache, or choosing not to wear one. For me, there’s nothing quite like it to signal where you feel you belong.