"Dreadlock Rasta-Mama"

Today while shampooing, my fingers came into contact with what felt like a puppy dogs tail. Further inspection proved it to be a dreadlock. I kid you not. I am the proud owner of a daunting, sizeable dreadlock near the back right side of my head.

I immediately started frantic dig around in my suitcase until I unearthed something I haven't seen or used since packing up back in London in February.

My Mason Pearson hairbrush.

Now, I have a confession to make. Since I've left home on this great South East Asian Adventure, almost four months ago, I have not yet....not even once...brushed my hair.

Now before you think me a slovenly example of womankind..let me explain.

Despite my neutral mode being 'ultra-glam', I am happy to swim the perimeters of contrast when and if it's called for. So while in Goa, and now in Bali, I've been happy to ponce about in a bikini, no make up, hair an afterthought....

Well turns out that a little thought now and then might not have gone amiss. Due to it's wavy, easy going texture, I've merely been washing it (when i remember), and letting it dry as it may. A good old head shake now and again, plus a bit of sand and general microscopic debris, has proven to be better at achieving the 'beach wave' look than that stuff that James Brown - hairdresser to the stars - touts in chemists across Britain.

So now i'm paying for months of a devil-may-care attitude toward my locks with this almighty dread which shows no signs of shifting - despite liberally applied conditioner and an almost maniacal assault with the aforementioned hairbrush.

Even the husband (who is not known to pick up on the more subtle nuances of feminine grooming) looked shocked/bemused when I held it up to him this morning.

'What are you going to do about THAT?' he asked.

Ummm. Put it back in a ponytail and forget about it. That's what I'm going to do. We're not heading back to civilisation anytime soon. I'm okay for now.