This is me, mid-hair-overhaul. Check out my gorgeous new glossy colour! Behold the beautiful shaping to the front of my hair! Take a good look and memorise these images, dear readers, because my hair, God bless it, can only manage to stay looking this fabulous for precisely three minutes after it has been finished. For as soon as I step out from the (secret location) hair studio, something untoward always happens to my hair and, like Cinderella’s Coach turns into a pumpkin, my barnet rebels. Usually it’s a gust of wind, or a freak downpour that causes the rebellion; today it was the heat, which in London was nearing the levels that you would expect in a smelting furnace. No hair can survive London heat – it’s different to the heat anywhere else in the world, and I’ll tell you why: Londoners are never prepared for it.

Take me as an example: Twenty-nine degree heat and I wear: a pretty tight denim skirt (sweat inducing), a vest, a checked shirt (?!) and cowboy boots with socks on underneath. This is typical of my illogical thinking: I’ll put socks on underneath my boots, then I won’t get blisters! Clever me! How about you don’t wear the boots at all, you twit?…  Totally unprepared Londoner. No wonder my hair hates me.

Fear not, though – you can see the “New Do” is all of it’s glory in my upcoming video, which will be very informative, especially for those of you who are slaves to the old six-weekly-highlighting-foils regime. And in the cool climate of AMR Mission Control, the hair seems to be behaving itself once more, snapping back to the beautiful, AMAZINGLY coloured, bouncy style that it was at 6pm. Sign of an excellent cut, that is. Watch this space!