I had my photo taken at work today for our website.

Bear in mind I've been there less than five months.

I was smartly wearing a shirt the same colour as the background colour that we'd been (pre)warned about.

"We'll need to photoshop your top so you don't look like you're just a floating head" the boys jested. "Oh yes, and we could make your hair black too."

"Oh please" I flung back (with wistful sincerity), "I've always wanted black hair."

(Exacerbated today by the fact that beautiful Helen has just had her hair lopped into a (jet black) bob and looks as 1920s elegant as you'd like with her tiny pixie face.)

"Then we'll photoshop it for you" says Graham, full of kindness, as yet innocent of the fact that my head looks as big as the moon on camera.

"And do you know what we can also do? We can add in streaks. So see here?" (he runs his hands around the perimeter of his head) "we'll give you a white stripe".

And then he stops (a step too far) looking horrified. "I can't believe I just said that."

Yes, boys and girls.

Less than five months and they already think I'm Cruella de Ville.