i GOT my hair cut on Wednesday,

what joy. i’ve always loved salon appointments, but now it seems like an impossible luxury. To be back in a Daniel galvin salon, with Cheryl wielding the scissors and many months of lockdown madness being shorn off? Bliss.

However, i almost miss the mess. One good thing about lockdown was that expectations were so low in so many ways, certainly when it came to appearances. i liked our shaggy office camaraderie, with usually bandbox- smart journalists looking unkempt, hairy and a little bit wild. some of us were out and proud with exposed roots, others looked like coconuts, shaven headed criminals or members of The sweet pop group. i even wore my jeans to work, unheard of in Daily Mail towers!

Now the curse of smart has returned and there is no escape. The men have reverted to short back and sides, the women no longer look like Tina Turner and i have bought a hand-held steamer to iron my blouses. To be honest, i’m a little bit sad to leave the hairy monster days behind, but onwards we must go.