43 Shades of Grey

I'm aging disgracefully, it would appear. I'm only 43 but I feel I'm falling apart.

The worst thing by far is my hair. When I was younger, I had thick, glossy locks, in a stunning array of colours. If you looked it up on a Loreal Colour Chart, it would be a unique combination of French Roast, Crushed Garnet, Espresso, Hot Toffee and Sparkling Amber.

My locks are still thick, and still an array of colours. Now however, it's more dove grey, silver grey, gun grey, pearl grey and midnight grey. It's threaded throughout my hair so there's no high or low light that can address the tresses - it's a full block colour job that's required.

I knew it was bad when my 4-year old said (yes, a from-the-mouth-of-babes moment): "Mummy, your hair is beautiful, but why do you have that grey band at the top?" That was weeks ago, and frankly I'm past the point of styling it out - I can no longer say I'm rocking an Ombre.

My hairdresser Ian can accurately pinpoint my last visit based on the regrowth. A good haircut is as anti-aging as a facelift, shouted The Daily Mail in February (only time I've been prepared to listen to them as an authority on anything), so if a trim can turn back time, what can a recolour achieve?

Every time I leave my hairdresser, I feel and look younger. Then I look in a mirror, and without the distraction of my silvery strands, I'm all too able to focus on the rest of the aging process. Thanks Ian.

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