I have grown used to pointedly ignoring the grey hairs that seem to be creeping onto my head. I know they are there. They know they are there. My hairdresser knows they are there “maybe we’ll put a few extra blonde ones in this bit” she subtly says.
I refuse to acknowledge them directly; in case the next step is having a wash and set once a fortnight, buying a sholley and a plastic rainhood ‘just in case’, getting a copy of the Damart catalogue and one of those polyester house coats that buttons up the front.