A lifetime of racing around, no thought to physical degeneration, the highs the lows… it all adds up when you're hitting The Big Seven O. Eva Cameron is up against it.
It seems only yesterday that my hairdresser announced: “Time to get out the bottle”. Eh? Was there something to celebrate?
Well, no. It was the onset of Grey Roots.
“Your skin’s much too youthful to be framed in any such…” quoth said coiffeur, with all the enthusiasm of an optician knowing he had you in his permanent clutches. And of course as the creases and wrinkles seem to increase the more distractingly vibrant a head of hair needs to be.
Much more recently I began experimenting with highlights. The idea was that they would merge into the wisps of whiteness that so relentlessly kept appearing… and reduce the frequency of having the Roots Done. Mistake.
They only ‘highlight’ them… Or as my generally non-pass-remarkable husband commented: “make you almost look your age”. Who needs that.
About a year ago I finally got round to the photo booth at my local supermarket with a view to claiming my Bus Pass, only (ahem!) years overdue. I was feeling quite good that day.
Skin sun-kissed. Hair groomed and healthily natural-looking. Eyes sparkling. A ready smile… Well that’s not wanted. But to think it cost me a fiver to be shown some old, hollow-eyed hag with a horribly lined visage… No way. Needless to say I’ve still not got a bus pass.
That’s one thing I can live without. But my driving licence? I can’t. Having suitably ‘lost’ last year’s set of pix, I ventured to a Passport Photo Specialist, somehow convinced that in a more professional environment the results could only be an improvement.
Alas. The svelte locks, the carefully applied eye enhancement and lipliner are to no avail. There’s another sullen-looking, grey-skinned female, albeit concealed in a folder – multiplied by 4. This time it’s £5.99 for the privilege… Em, are these someone else’s perhaps?
Now I thought passport photos were all about defining identifying features. Eye recognition. That sort of thing. Who needs to see heavily defined, scraggy chicken necks and saggy jowls. We’re not doing an ad to attract the Grim Reaper.
Is there any reason why these cameras can’t be properly adjusted to offer a little soft focus? Come to think of it, you never see anyone glumly granny-looking on the sample shots promoting the photo service, do you?
I bet all those fresh-faced we’ans, glamorous mums and suave gents on the posters have been touched up, don’t you?
“It doesn’t really matter” said my daughter. “Passport photos are always awful. Don’t bother about it.” Well ‘awful’ doesn’t mean Totally Scary when you’re half my age. She is.
It’s not vanity that’s on the line here. It’s basic morale. I’m not for going off for a face-lift or a nip’n’tuck… That’s for wimps who can’t face Reality.
But if this is me coming up for 70, how much worse can it get?
Oh no. Well, oh dear. Och, oh heck.