More about me.

I've spent all week fiddling around with my hair trying to get it to resemble a style from 1936.

On Monday night, I tried to curl it into Grace Kelly style cascading waves. It looked a little crimped.

On Tuesday, I rolled it round a fat piece of hair net to try and get it to sit demurely in a sausage at my neck, showing my demurity. DG said it looked ugly. Well, he wasn't quite as blunt as that but you could see the ugliness in his eyes.

So today, I went for the chop. My best offer as an alternative was to have it bobbed. Which I thought was maybe a little too 1920s but then Madame de Tourvel doesn't have much in the way of fashion sense.

And then Esther suggested that Chicago was set in the 30s and I thought of Catherine Zeta Jones and suddenly a bob was desirable.

Needless to say, a bob cut later, I do not look like Catherine Zeta Jones. I tried to take a beauty sleep this afternoon to get rid of the terrible frown lines and deep purple surrounding my eyes. But I possibly slept for about 8 minutes so it didn't make much of an inroad.

Still, you can't say I'm not trying.

And the hairdresser won my eternal adoration by saying, as she fell onto my hair with her greedy scissors: "so, are you an actress then?"