Including my funky new haircut. Last night when I looked in the mirror I swear I looked like a cool rock chick (well I had, had a drink) This morning she's gone. My "do" this morning can best be described as early bog brush. It's frightening. I've stood in front of the mirror for the best part of an hour and burnt my forehead with the straighteners (twice) and I wonder - is it worth it? All this trying to stay young stuff wears me out. I am sure it was easier in Grannys day. You turned forty, got yourself a curly grey perm, a plastic rain hood and a pull along tartan shopping trolley, and spend the rest of your days complaining about how much better it was in the war. It sounds much easier. Now, where did I put that headscarf........................