HAIR DYE-SASTER

I have something to confess to, I’m not the girl from the neck down i used to be and as depicted up in the corner of this column in that slightly grumpy faced photo.

For a couple of months ago after nearly six years of being a platinum blonde I decided I’d grown weary of the almost fortnightly root touch up procedure involved in being the shade that the old chestnut would have you believe is more fun and like Darth Vader before me, decided to embrace my dark side.

I’m pretty sure a few of you will know that turning very light hair to very dark hair is no easy ride in the salon let alone hunched over the sink in your pristine white bathroom but with a little help from a friend and a stop off at the hue that was nicknamed “50 shades of beige “, 11 weeks ago I finally arrived at my desired tone of ebony.

And all has been going swimmingly with my amazing new look apart from one incident just recently after getting my hair primped and preened on the hottest day of the year in preparation for my birthday party  .

I’d spent the morning in a chair as my best friend worked her magic covering the silvery grey stripes of root regrowth and snipped it back into my signature look pixie crop.

Hair dry and tidy I bid her farewell after a stop off for rose lemonade outside a local cafe and was glad to get back in the shade for an hour or so before I ventured out once again to meet the boys on their walk home from school with a nice cold bottle of drink to cool them down.

At 3.15 off out into the heat I went, drinks ensconced in a canvas bag, sun cream lathered all over and sunglasses on.

As I walked I noticed I seemed to be getting quite a bit of attention.

My hair must look particularly splendid I thought to myself as I strode on , sweltering hot in my t shirt and shorts and sweat beginning to pour down my face and neck .

With a lack of tissues to hand I used a corner of my black bag to wipe away some of the dampness   and carried on walking, bypassing more people who seemed to be blown away by how good I looked.

It wasn’t until i finally met up with the boys that the reason I was so grabbing people’s attention finally dawned on me.

“Mum, why are your face and neck a funny colour “they both exclaimed and it was then I realised that the remains of my hair dye had been mixing with the perspiration on my skin creating great rivulets of colour cascading down my face and neck meaning that I was no longer pale and interesting but strange tone of stripy blue/black/grey .

Dignity in pieces we were forced to bid a hasty retreat home so I could jump in the shower to wash away the mortification of looking like a right wally so let me leave you with the moral of the story .

Please make sure you remember to wash your hair dye out until the water runs completely clear if there’s an amber weather warning after all the only thing you might want to want to bring a bit of colour to your cheeks is the sun not abject humiliation .