Never mind a beautician after lockdown, at this rate I’ll need a magician.
White hairs at the roots and leg hair that could reach Longforgan, it ain’t a pretty sight.
In the spirit of adapting, I took Mum up on the offer to drop something she’d tried at the door – a £1.99 spray for roots.
It kind of worked, the “dark red” hue scooshed on to my parting masked the whites and lasted until it was washed out.
The effort was in honour of a “beauty” Zoom call as from her home in Birkhill, my pal Jane had decided enough was enough.
Her salon might have to be closed but she could showcase her beauty products to us, from the comfort of our sofas all over Scotland – Dundee, Perthshire, Edinburgh and the Borders – where the next glass of wine was only a fridge-walk away.
She is one of many in Dundee and surrounding areas adapting to thrive. There’s fruit and veg boxes from the likes of Clementine in the Ferry or Thistle in Forfar being delivered to your door; cafes and bakeries offering pick-up and drop-off services and (my favourite last week) the ability to click and collect a paddling pool within half an hour of ordering, from Smyths in Lochee retail park.
All these telly types boasting of their outdoor pools on Instagram, eh? They have nothing on my £39.99 family-sized pool complete with inflatable seats.
It’s not just business-owners trying to earn a crust. I’ve heard of a few people who have been furloughed making themselves useful rather than sitting about at home – with one delivering essential or fresh messages to the elderly and vulnerable.
Read more from Martel Maxwell here
Over on our beauty Zoom, we laughed in recognition of problems shared. We might not be going anywhere “special” but what if we bumped into someone we knew at the shops on a hot day with our blue-white hairy pins on show?
One girl had tried a home sugar waxing and swore by it. Another gave a live demonstration of an instant tan that washes off at the end of the day.
We made notes of our recommendations and Jane’s favourite products and, perhaps buoyed by a weekend glass or two, felt sure we would order stuff and be transformed into Gwyneth Paltrow.
We felt calm, serene even, as we chatted, sure in the knowledge the “best us” was round the corner.
Then I went and spoilt it all with a run to the toilet. In retrospect, I could have left my phone on the sofa and not placed it on the sink opposite the actual loo.
“Can anyone hear running water?” one said. “Martel, is that you . . .?”
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