The lockdown was pretty alright for a recluse like me but one of the highlights was being able to experiment with all sorts of hair colours in the comfort of my own home. If it went wrong or didn’t suit it didn’t matter because what would my husband or cat care? I went from red to blonde to bright pink to Cookie Monster blue and every shade in between – and I smugly commended my follicles for hanging in there, not falling out or bowing down to the pressure I wrought down upon them. Until, they did.

After two years of rocking an extreme rainbow, my tresses have finally said: “No more” and turned into spaghetti. It was the last bleach bath that did it and I knew, just knew I was pushing my luck. And now I’ve been to the hairdressers and had it cut short to weather the storm sensibly. No more box dye, bleach or heat – trims every six weeks – and I’m going back to my natural colour. BOO!

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