So, as if my life wasn’t stressful enough.
I got a fringe cut.
I realised I’d had the same hair do since my GCSEs so, on an impulse, and a desire to look like Lily Allen, I thought fuck it.
I just wish my hairdresser could do my hair every morning.
Because, if there was a toss up between an extra three minutes in bed or attempting to tame a fringe from it’s natural frizzy early 80s look, it will be bed.
And to top it all off, as I, unintentionally, dressed my daughter and I in matching red jeans and set off to the park, she squeezed my hand and said, ‘I’m pleased you got your hair cut like mine mummy. We’re like twins’
We are twins.