Today, right at the end of the day, I have booked myself a hair appointment, with my lovely hairdresser, also called Caroline - she's the owner of Now in Uckfield High Street if you're interested (Should I get a discount for saying that?)
And here is Caroline, in living colour. It does look a bit as though she's using a light sabre on that girl's neck. All I can say is, she's never used one on me! Yet.
This indulgence is a celebration, I hope, for finishing an arduous yet successful week of work. Some people might choose a night on the town - for me it's a haircut and colour.
Lots of bad hair days lately.
So, later on my soul will be neatly trimmed yet still curly and will have purply-blue streaks. Unless I decide, on impulse, that something different might be fun.
My hair is the subject of Audacious Comments - but I only have myself to blame.
In an e-mail from a colleague only the other day, leaving to start a new job: "It has been a pleasure witnessing the changes in your hair design - like the changing leaves on a tree!"
Then..on one famous occasion, I was hacking along the road on Poppy - wearing a riding hat, of course - with purply curls flying. A woman stopped me and said 'LOVE the hair. Is it attached to the hat?'
'No...it's attached to my head' was the best I could come up with by way of response.
I think I was insulted. Or flattered. One or the other.
It's funny really, me having quite outrageous hair, because in so many ways I'm painfully shy...
Bring on the psychologist.