You know, it used to be so easy: a quick turnaround from workaday to party girl. My mates could pick me up from work on a Friday night (I was always the last to finish work) I’d jump in the car and by the time we’d whizzed up the road to Lancaster, Burnley, Oldham or Preston I’d emerge like a butterfly from a chrysalis all set for a party or a black tie dinner, there can’t be a ladies loo on the motorway network in the north west that I’ve not changed in. But it was a long time ago.
This came to mind the other night when I was roped in to be a ‘model’ (actually guinea pig would be a more accurate description) for someone who was presenting a ‘micro teach’ on beauty therapies for a teaching qualification. She ‘did my nails’ the moment the glorious damson varnish went on I was transported back to a world where such things seemed important, instant glamour. There was only one problem though and the clue is in the name ‘micro teach’ there was only time for one hand
So I came home with just a fistful of glamour, I flashed the glitzy hand around the next morning remembering parties past, till it was time for work and the reality that I wasn’t going to get away with the ‘before and after look’ at work, so I managed to find the nail varnish remover in the back of the bathroom cabinet (it had just about evaporated, but there was enough) and wipe away the glamour but not the memory.