Sand between your what?

Every time we take a bath together Bub.1 points to my décolletage and asks “Is that sand?” No son, it is the cruel effect of six years of Australian sunshine.

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Every time we take a bath together Bub.1 points to my décolletage and asks “Is that sand?” No son, it is the cruel effect of six years of Australian sunshine.

I wasn’t too rigorous with my sun protection during my Aussie years, something that I bitterly regret. In fact, it was when on new year’s eve 2006 that I leaned in towards the mirror to apply lipstick and caught sight of something resembling Judith Chalmer’s upper lip that I decided to move back to the UK (sure there were other factors like acute homesickness and escalating debt but the ruched skin swung it).

There is a certain crepiness about my temples now that there is nothing I can do about. And my son asks me if he can dig sandcastles out of my chest. During both my pregnancies I suffered hyperpigmentation (or the “mask of pregnancy” as it is sometimes known), an affliction I am yet to shift and I am sure has something to do with previous sun damage.  So if there was one piece of beauty advice I’d give to my 16-year-old self, it would be to wear sunscreen every day.

That and put the hotbrush DOWN.

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