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Got my hair done. It hurts, what I do to my barnet. You have to smoke your way through it while it burns…

I arrive home, fly from the beauty salon as the Fresh Prince would have it (look away if you’re under 40), feeling all Blondie or maybe even a bit Marilyn. Gwyneth says, “oh right, you’ve gone for the Andy Warhol again”.

There will be no sex now until Christmas.

Shit. He might not notice that punishment.

Having my hair done costs money. I do it because it makes me feel a bit more ok-ish. Like a gym membership (I don’t have one of these), or a regular yoga class (nope) or buying a copy of Gwyneth Paltrow’s latest “cookery book” (note: there is nothing remotely edible in these books. I know this because my Gwyneth bought them all, surely only to porn over pics of her gurning with armfuls of unidentifiable veg)… 

Most of us (even the righteous, even Bono and Angelina Jolie!) throw stupid money at stupid stuff because we hope it will make us feel better about ourselves. Yours might be a facecream, or a perfume, or a beard-oil (fellas only I assume but, you know, whatevs…), or an addiction to Lotus biscuit-spread (that’s me), or wine (me), or fags (erm, also me)…

Yesterday I bought a new swimsuit. In one week I will be on a public beach and as we’ve already established (see The Weather Outside is Frightful) my shit thighs and lack of eyebrows will dominate the experience. This swimsuit is special. It has clever gathering and layering. It will enable me to feel more Liz Taylor and less MakkaPakka.

Gwyneth didn’t get it: “Fifty quid for a swimsuit? You’re not bloody Kim Kardashian”. Which is a daft thing to say as it’s blindingly obvious that KK and I are virtually THE SAME PERSON. We both have a ginormous arse and an even more ginormous arse for a husband. (We also agree on pregnancy which she described as a ‘totally miserable experience’ which is like admitting you eat donuts in celeb pregnancy-is-bliss land).

Most of all though KK totally understands that sometimes you gotta throw some cash at stuff. The fact that she has actual cash and I don’t is an annoying and hopefully temporary glitch…

I leave you with this fact: today is International Be a Millionaire Day. Yep. Really. There are no clear guidelines on how to celebrate this unless you are an actual millionaire. I will mark it by buying a lottery ticket for tomorrow and then dreaming of a day where I can buy ONE GODDAM MOTHERFUCKING candlestick from goop…and then return it for being TOO CHEAP.

See you Monday…