Is it wrong to fall in love with a paint, d’you think? The red tester arrived two days ago. It is small. Innocuous, even. But only because of its size. Man, that is one RED paint. We are going to paint the lime wall – which is both the tallest wall, and the one you’ll actually see least of, as it’s going to have cupboards nearly covering it, and already has shelves on one side of the door – with it, and I cannot wait. The paint is breathable and doesn’t smell at all, which is slightly unnerving to one who knows the Way of Gloss (sounds like some Taoist thing, doesn’t it?), but rather pleasing. So far, I have, ahem, ‘tested’ the paint with a series of hearts in varying sizes, sprawled across the clean freshness of the wall with lavish abandon. Well, it’s important to see what it looks like in different lights. Ahem.

Oh, and Ms. LLama has started me off wanting dreadlocks again. I had a brief flirtation with dreads when I was about 22 – as my hair was very short at the time, it was, well, short-lived… A friend was learning to put fake dreads in people’s hair, and I volunteered as a guinea-pig. They looked fab for about a week, but then I gradually moulted. Not so great. Now, however, my hair is long enough, for the first time since I was about 14, to consider Actual, Proper Dreads. And yes, I am aware of the hideous predictability of it, particularly for those of you unfortunate enough to know me – and my tendencies of a hippy variety – in real life. So. To dread, or not to dread? I am slightly reassured on my one previous reservation – the frequency of washing which one could undertake – in that the lovely Sarah, herself the owner of a very fine set of dreads, reckons every two or three days works fine. Should have thought of this when I started my maternity leave, I suppose. Meh. No-one’s perfect, right?