"Are you sure you’re not a Russian spy or something?” The man asking me this knows full well I can’t be, but he sounds hopeful all the same. I’m in a coffee shop on Paul Street in Cork and two guys I know socially have been staring at me for the last half an hour. I can’t say I blame them. The last time they saw me I was a crop-haired brunette, now they’re talking to a platinum blonde.

IT IS the clinic that promises a good hair day every day.