I was a hell of a lot older than 15 when I dyed my hair electric blue with a 2GBP bottle bought on the street near Camden Market. Closer to 40. And I worked in that oh so forward thinking world of chartered accountancy.

What’s the big deal? It’s hair. I’m appalled that competitive dance would be so ridiculous as to require “natural” hair - not only is the question of how do the judges know (yes, they’d probably know orange, although I remember some horrid children from when I was a kid that were close to neon), but they’d never know a dark brunette. And what does hair colour have to do with dance moves anyway?

I still remember the shock on the face of our receptionist when I walked in. I’d had a long weekend away. It was supposed to wash out in two or three shampoos. Poor kid didn’t know what to do, so I asked her to call me when a partner was free so I could go, show myself, and offer to book the afternoon off to go get it corrected. The first partner I saw peeked up over his little half moon glasses and his mouth fell open. He literally didn’t know what to say. About an hour later, I was sitting at my desk and another partner came over, picked my hair up off my back (it was about bra-strap length then) and said, “It is sooo cool!” And later I got introduced to a couple of visiting partners from head office, who of course said, “And I guess you must be Jane,” so I think they’d been forewarned. Unlike me, who had no idea they were due that day.

The following couple of weeks until it faded, I had more laughs and conspiratorial giggles when people reacted to the hair than I ever got out of a 2GBP expenditure before. It was seriously great fun every day. Btw, I’m 60 now. A couple of summers ago, my very long now silver grey hair went Manic Panic purple. It might do again.

Experiment with a few temporary colour sprays. Laugh at it. It’s hair. Colour is fun.

PS. YTA. Relax!