Planet Mad

I'd headed up to the Lower Sixth corridor in the House to go through someone's UCAS personal statement, when I was accosted by a gaggle of girls looking for an excuse not to be working. Conversation started with my netball course tomorrow, veered through diets, chocolate and smear tests, before arriving at haircuts.

"Oh no, Miss E," cried one of the girls. "You can't go back to radical short. We've seen the photos. You just look so much prettier and more feminine now it's longer."

"Well, yes - that's what's worrying me," I replied. "I don't think I'm cut out to do feminine. I'm just yer basic jeans and doc martens sort of girl: I can't do girlie."

"Oh yes you can: you can get away with it. It's not like you look like a dyke."

Which, all things considered, is a shame, as I'd wanted to look like a volcanic rock feature. Hey ho.