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Invisible (wo)Man

Someone once said – probably Germaine – that beyond a certain age, women become invisible. I’d always assumed that referred to women my mother’s age* but a funny thing happened last week that made me think it might happen sooner than anticipated. As I walked out of Topshop on Oxford Street (see how I’m fighting it?) a young hipster stood with a microphone doing a vox-pop street interview for Radio One. On what, I shall never know.

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Invisible (wo)Man

Someone once said – probably Germaine – that beyond a certain age, women become invisible. I’d always assumed that referred to women my mother’s age* but a funny thing happened last week that made me think it might happen sooner than anticipated. As I walked out of Topshop on Oxford Street (see how I’m fighting it?) a young hipster stood with a microphone doing a vox-pop street interview for Radio One. On what, I shall never know.

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No foreplay?

I. Am. Knackered. And I definitely can’t top my John Torode story from last week. So, if you don’t mind, I’ll go straight to the wines.

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Have we met before?

Picture the scene: drinks reception for work, unfamiliar surroundings, friend introduces you to another friend. You greet them with great familiarity, you know you’ve met them before.

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Carzzzzzzzzz

Last week, we got a new car. Second hand actually, but by far the most grown up car we’ve ever had. It’s the children and dog car, Bearded Husband said.

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On the fringe…

I love putting pretty hairclips in my daughter’s hair, sweeping her long fringe to one side and sweeping the enforced-genderism-at-such-a-tender-age argument to the other. It’s a hairclip, FFS.

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