I'm supposed to have some long lasting colour on my hair. Unfortunately, heaven only knows what will happen. Not only is my DIY to be avoided, but my chemistry skills were never much to write home about. Or rather they were, as my teachers wrote home things like:
“Dear Mrs Speedy
It is with some regret that I include this year's report card for your son. Young Speedy displays admirable enthusiasm during class, but mortifyingly little skill in handling chemical compositions. If he could perhaps concentrate a little more, rather than viewing the actual mixing of potentially hazardous chemicals as the same process with which he mixes paints in his art class, we may get a mixture that carries the intended properties, and not one which whilst a beautiful shade of red, also removes the eyebrows of the back half of Class 2B and melts all nylon underpants within a radius of 12 yards.”
I have no idea what shape my head will be in the morning. It's probably OK, but in a moment of absent mindedness I emptied the little tube of colour fast conditioner, rather than the tube of conditioning colour, into the little pointy bottle. In all likelihood all that will happen is that the colour isn't as good. Chemical reactions being what they are, though, I may well wake up with a scalp that resembles an artex ceiling and hair the colour of Phil Mitchell's cheeks.
I'll let you know. Long live my head.
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