We’ve all been there. It usually happens in our youth, but some of us are caught out in later years too. I’m talking about the thing that can turn a confident, “zero-f*cks” kind of woman into a blathering mess on the bathroom floor, after she’s tried every technique known to mankind and Vidal Sasson to rectify the situation. You know it: The Worst Haircut Of Your Life. If we’re lucky, we only have one disaster to regale our friends with but unfortunately for me, and fortunately for you, I have several.
There was a time in my life when travel was all I did: working was purely a means to an end. But then along came our daughter and, unlike those intrepid parents who need nothing more than a Baby Bjorn Backpack and a calfskin swaddling cloth to venture into the wilds with their offspring, motherhood grounded me for a few years.
Fast forward to 2016, one trip to the UK under our belts, and it was time to head back. This time we had a 12 year old with us and she was going to turn 13 in Paris. We were going to teach her some stuff. It would be an education.
And along the way I found out a few things myself …