Blonde ambition (I'm out of blonde quotes now, you'll be pleased to know)

OK. I had my hair dyed. Do you want to see? Do you? Do you, though?

The stuff in the background is lavender and although it looks questionable it is allowed to be there

I look a bit knackered, because I’m having a bit of a week, and also because I am not photogenic. Try to imagine me with a few hours’ sleep and some lippy. I kind of love it. (Nobody say, ‘roots’). It took hours. We went through two applications of bleach and one of toner. After the first application of bleach it went that really unspeakable yellow that hair goes when you’ve had a really bad dye job or indeed done it yourself with some Domestos after a few too many Bacardi Breezers. The hairdresser washed it off and dried it and was saying, gosh, this is looking amazing, and I sat there thinking please God no, not on top of everything else, you as a capricious divinity cannot possibly have sent me orange hair. It is as bad as when the henna went wrong when I was 14 and Keith Smith called me Cheesy Wotsit all term, O what can I do, as obviously the hairdresser is looking enthusiastic even though I showed her the picture and everything. So I nervously squeaked out, do you think perhaps it should be a bit less orange, and it turned out we were only half way through and it was looking amazing for that stage, not as a finished thing.

Gremlin says, why go blonde, I find it incomprehensible

So that shows you that you should chat to your hairdresser all the way through and not get sidetracked reading articles in women’s magazines about how to be happier and make a peplum work, either or. I know how to be happier: shall I tell you? Write lyrics for songs. I have written a song and now I feel much better. All I need now is a McCartney to my Lennon (Dan, I believe you may know more than three chords, and I am looking at you. I am looking at you most pointedly).