40 is the new 30

On the day of my party I was relaxing in the basin of the hair salon when I felt the fingers of the shampoo girl freeze. 'Adam', she says, 'come here, I want to talk to you'. Adam (the hairdresser) comes over to the basin. I sensed something was wrong - their voices were controlled, their conversation was about nothing - but it was clear by the amount of squirting noises I could hear from various bottles and the kind of frenzied activity that appeared to be going on around my head that I was the victim of a BLEACHED HAIR AT THE BASIN DISASTER.

Of course I didn't realise the enormity of the disaster until I got home - it's amazing how a salon blow dry and a bit of bluff can fool the customer.

And so it came to pass that I had to attend my own birthday party with the ugliest haircut and worst hair colour in recent memory. Luckily, as my hairdresser said to me 'don't worry, you are still a human being' - which kind of put it all into perspective.

So, with cocktail frock on, champagne in hand and a dodgy mane, I threw a little bash in the backyard.


Steve with the heiress and her husband.

I also must thank Donna for organising the most wonderful group of women to chip in and buy me the bestest of presents - a Jordana Paige Bella bag in white and a voucher from a lingerie shop (funny, I seemed to get a few of those - wonder why?).

I love the bag so much it's going to have it's own post. Thank you Donni, Jussi, Jae, Sharon, Rox and Donna - it's a great present. I love you guys.



Donni, Donna and me. Don't look at the hair!