Being ginger (or strawberry blonde, depending on how grumpy I'm feeling) i have a variety of ridiculous practises that i indulge in to try and make myself feel better. The mojority of them involve factor 50 and a yashmack when sunbathing, but every 5 weeks, I enjoy painting my eyes with peroxide and hair dye in the name of tinting my eye lashes and eye brows.
Believe me, it's worth it, I have naturally white eyelashes and eyebrows and I actually look like Boris Becker (but chubbier and more rubbish at poker and tennis) without the burning (no really, its like effectively pouring burning acid in your eyes) effort of it all.
So off I go at the weekend to try and find a lovely place for my eye replenishing. I find a lovely smelling, relaxing, lovely, friendly place and ask for a menu of treatment delights. I stick it in my bag and wander off, happy that I have found my new sanctury from a busy week at work and nagging Sweetheart.
However, dear reader, what's a girl to do when she gets home to find that her new sanctury, haven and place of indulgent is endorsed by...
"I HAVE TRAVELLED ALL OVER THE WORLD.." says wor Heather "AND NEVER HAD A BETTER MASSAGE AND FACIAL..."
oh dear :(
it looks like an amazing place, but how can I relax when I am going to be on tenter hooks listening for the sinister tap, tap, tap of a Mills on her hoppity adventures?