The hair

Right I have truly had enough of my hair. Whatever I do to it looks horrendous. I was never going to be a yummy mummy - frankly I had enough trouble getting out of the house with make up on and my hair beautifully styled before I had a child let alone now I have one. (Yes I understand the irony - I write beauty features for a living - but if I'm honest life is just too short to spend half an hour applying guff to my face and blow drying my hair - but don't tell the readers).

Anyway in life BR - my hair was always just there. It was never spectacular - apart from maybe when I was about 17 when I recall it being all long and wavy and marvellously coloured - but it always looked ok. A mite fluffy at times and prone to misbehaving in humidity (that's enough from you sister - before you start telling stories about holidays and hair straighteners!!), but in general it never looked skanky.

Now it looks skanky. It's falling out in handfuls thanks to the raging post pregnancy hormones and it gets greasy in seconds. This might be due to the fact that there is a small boy hanging from it at any opportunity - but truly it is quite hideous. My forehead seems to grow bigger everyday - which is clearly down to the flat, ugly dullness of my hair. Just call me slap head.

I have hair envy. Where ever I go I see people with glossy hair, fabulously styled and I just want to grab them, grill them about what products they use and how long they spend back combing, poofing and blow drying every morning to procur themselves such a glamorous do?

The chances are they spend hours (or even minutes) that I don't have in front of the mirror making sure their hair looks great. I'd love to wash my hair every day - but I just don't have time. When it does get a wash I spend a good five minutes untangling lose hair from my fingers and then another five unclogging the shower drain and trying not to gag. Then I blast it (still sopping wet - tut tut) with a hairdryer while Mr Jones scowls at me for taking too long to get ready. If I'm lucky, and I've remembered to turn them on, I might even get to run the straighteners through it before I scrape it back into a pony tail in the hopes of preserving some of the shiny cleanliness before it's pulled, chewed and covered in whatever Rufus is having for breakfast, lunch and dinner.

I am tempted to have it all cut off. But I am terrifed that I'll end up with awful Mum hair, or something so high maintenance that I have to spend the next six months in solitary confinement until it grows back out again into something slightly managable. Something has to be done. I can't go on looking like I've been pulled through a greasy hedge backwards everyday. But what?Suggestions please......

Hair trials and tribulations

Tomorrow I have my hair trial and I am slightly terrified. Given that my hair and make-up stylist is a good friend and colleague I shouldn't be scared at all, but when you've had a history of hair disasters like mine, you probably would be too.

The horror of the misguided perm at 13 was only added to by the updo I chose for my prom. I wanted Julia Roberts from Steal Magnolias



What I got was an enormous bouffant which made me look like something out of the film Coneheads with a few curly tendrils. I spent the whole night trying to squish down the offending bulge - but alas, half a can of elnett meant it stayed in place all night.

Since then I've avoided all thought of an updo and I was planning to have my hair down ala Mrs Costner:



but that idea has been poo poo'd by friends, make-up artists and dress designers alike. So an updo it is. Fingers crossed I don't look like some 1980s horror or something from Arthurian Legend.

Hair

I would like my hair to look like this.....currently it looks like this........


I am not joking! I hate having to grow it for the wedding and I want Sophie's hair - actually that's a lie - I just want to be her! Have you seen her new cook book? SO jealous.

Anyway my beloved hairdresser arrives at 12.30pm on Saturday 22nd August (yes the day after the wedding - I don't care if I'm so hungover that someone else has to hold my head up for me - I just want it cut). She'll chop off my ratty do so that I can bounce my way glossily to the airport (with my fingers crossed that Cape Town is experiencing a spot of 0% humidity).

Other news today:
*Mr Jones is now in Prague for his stag do - I am suitably anxious about his wellbeing.
*I have been to another spinning class and my bottom doesn't feel like it's about to fall off and I don't wince when asked to sit - this must be progress?
*I have gained 3lbs this week - despite exercising like a fiend - I blame bread - it's food of the devil.
*I had a dream last night that Mr Jones tried to pierce my ear drum with a cinnamon stick (don't ask!)
*Mr Jones had a dream that we'd been invited to the Birkett-Smiths for dinner, had a few too many and fell asleep on the sofa. He woke up being shouted at by Mrs B-S who had apparently made a cheese board for pudding and was annoyed that no one was eating it. How truly bizarre - he never dreams.