The Gingerbread

So I caved.

I tried to grow my hair out so I could get my hair colour back to the way nature intended. I spied a glimpse of my natural colour. I got excited. It had been a while. I quite fancied the idea of long earth-child locks, set free from the need to regularly dump a load of chemicals on my noggin. I’m getting a bit old for such nonsense now surely? And not so old that I have to dye it to stave off the grey. In-yer-face hair can sometimes speak for you, and can be a lot to live up to.

But I got bored. I caved. I’m red again.

Awesome redheads:


But of course! Excuse the mug. I walked into the NAS stand at the Eisteddfod yesterday and said to an old colleague “I haven’t seen you in ages!” to which they replied “I see you every day” and pointed behind me. Oh yes, I forgot a big photo of me had been made into a pop-up stand to advertise their befriending service. So I suppose I’d better get used to this face -spots, scars, wonky eyes and all.



Am currently Mad Men obsessed. Would like Joan’s hair, curves and wardrobe please, if you would be so kind. That Greg doesn’t deserve her.


Aah nostalgia. Posters of Jared Leto ripped from Just17 up on the wall, flower-print dresses and plaid shirts, tippexed doctor martens…

Ron Weasley


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