Well maybe that is not completely true. The grey hair has been sneaking in for quite some time, but prior to the first Covid lockdown in March 2020 I embraced a regular cover-up. That took the form of repeat bookings with my hairdresser.

However, my transition toward greyer days happened fairly quickly, once it began.

But I am not disappointed.

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My first recollection of a grey future began in my mid-30s when my father pointed out that I must be getting old because he could see a grey hair. Vanity prompted me to immediately pull it out, to which my father said "you know that for every grey hair you pull out, three more grow back." I was horrified and quickly booked into the hairdresser.

Of course I returned serve and mentioned that while my proof of getting old was my stray greys, his proof that he was getting even older was that he had a grey-haired daughter. He never pointed out my grey hair again.

As much as my father heralded the start of my greying years, my mother proved to me that it could be a welcome change.

You see my parents became grey-nomads in retirement. When they left on their first trip my mother had hairdresser-induced chestnut coloured hair. When she returned, six months later, she had naturally-acquired platinum white hair. I loved the colour and became hopeful that the platinum-coloured apple wouldn't fall far from the tree.

However, I was still not ready to put my genetics to the test so I continued to make the hairdresser bookings for several years.

That was until the first Covid lockdown hit.

My regular hair appointment was scheduled for two days after hairdressers across the country had to shut their doors and hang up their scissors for a couple of months. That booking had already been delayed by a few weeks for other reasons, so my distinct grey high-tide mark was already blatantly obvious.

I struggled with it for the first month in lockdown, but by the second month I was used to it. Glimpses of the platinum white, that my mother continues to sport, were starting to make an appearance. This assisted with acceptance of my new hair colour.

By the time the restrictions had eased and hairdressers could return to the salon I had embraced the grey. I had decided that instead of sitting for several hours in the hairdresser chair, waiting for more youthful foil highlights to take hold, I would accept my new God-given colour.

I also noted that the time and financial savings I made could still be used in supporting my favourite hairdresser in other ways. I would simply go more often for a wash and blow dry, and sometimes a trim.

Eighteen months later the platinum is sneaking in naturally, I love my pamper appointments at my hairdresser's and there is barely a sign of my former colour that was steeped in a desire to maintain my youth. The end to colouring has also left me with healthier hair.

It is without a doubt a breath of fresh air compared to my former higher-maintenance grooming habits. As far as I am concerned the grey is here to stay.

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