It's horrible; it's the complete opposite of what I wanted. Words that come to mind - thin, ratty and wispy in the bad sense of the word. Intsead of volume I have flat, limp locks. Instead of a choppy, sexy shag I have a straight sheet of hair. Instead of a side parting I have a middle one (but to great effect - I look about 13). The worst part is that it's my birthday on Sunday and I will have to wear a hat/potato sack for the next few months whilst it grows out - no mean feat when it is 33 degrees and 99% humidity outside. Plus hats and sacks don't suit me (so it's rather the question of which is the greater evil? My hair, the spawn of Satan, obviously).

Hairdressers obviously hate me and my hair. I feel personally attacked by their cruel and blatently offside tactics - trying to demoralise me by ridding me off my good looks is working, though. But as a last resort I now concede all power, both personal and of anyone I know, to hairdressers. You win (but don't think I won't set Mrs. Trunchbull - masseuse extraordinary - on you lot).