On another nostalgic note, I’ve been ratching in the photo
box. (I must endeavour to fulfil my good intentions to scrap book them). Reflecting
on my pudding bowl hair style of the 70s, I really can’t believe that my mother
positively encouraged such a hideous, Cromwellian look. Maybe it’s the resultant
emotional scarring that’s enabled me to relax and allow Miss Glis to develop
her own (moderately) glamorous style. I’ve
had great fun this afternoon selecting some of the most horrific specimens for scanning
into the computer. They’ve certainly given my friends and me something to snork
over on Facebook.
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