Lockdown extensions? You might be needing those pliers @JanetChristie2 Mum's the Word

It takes an artist to keep up appearances

Pets may have mixed feelings about lockdown

Home hair care tips – don’t forget the pliers

So what happens if you leave micro ring hair extensions in too long?

I know there are a lot more important things going on – I live near a crematorium, which is surprisingly life-affirming with services held outside and fragments of people’s lives relayed on the tannoy – “Dad loved lamb” – and the music a fascinating Covid-Island Discs insight into the departed – bagpipes, Bebop and today, a very jolly Trail of the Lonesome Pine.

Pets may have mixed feelings about lockdown

Being a felt not telt creature, Youngest threw this teaser out then disappeared, while I Googled, got enthused, located the pliers in preparation for some mother daughter bonding/unbonding and went back to work.

There was silence for an hour, during which I assumed she was asleep, (poor lamb, TikToking into the small hours takes its toll), then forgot about her – well, some weeks she’s at Other Parent’s.

Until, “Done it!” The lair door swings open. A nanosecond scan of her face reveals a mildly pleased mien.

I go for a safe “Nice.” Which is true. I keep the “looks much healthier” to myself.

“Hmph. Way short. God.”

What a relief, I thought this was going to be one of those all my fault situations.

“Still looks long to me,” I say, but then at her age I was sporting a Stan Laurel crop, a fine mess that required much gloop and gob to keep it vertical.

“Want these?” she says, holding out 20 long blonde hair extensions.

“Oooh yeah! Thanks.” I fix them on the top of my head with a bobble – at last, a blonde ponytail – just as my cousin’s eight-year-old, at a loose end in lockdown, and veteran of many a family Zoom quiz, Facetimes me. She takes one look at me and says “I know this one!”

“Oh?”

“Andy Warhol.”

I’ll take that.

“There’s only one problem,” says Youngest, turning round to reveal a fist-sized nest on the back of her head, like the one she sported when she was a toddler and everyone was too frightened of her to touch it. “OK, you can sort it,” she says.

At last. I reach for my pliers.

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