My fingers will never be the same colour again. I dyed my hair, my shower, my sink, my towel, my neck/ears/back/forehead. And scalp. And nose. And white walls. Oh dear oh dear. Everything is sort of violet, apart from my hair which obstinately refuses to do much other than sort of...glow in a purple-ish way when I pull it before my eyes and look through it at a light.

Jules suggests that the daubing of the purple-ness is "like a paganistic ritual for...inner peace". And that I should "pretend it's fruit pulp and not dye". (For I have to face the rest of my college with a purple forehead on Monday morning. God forbid it rains.) What do I say? That I got that URGE to sit in a bath with a load of mashed up plums/blackberries/blueberries and SMEAR them all over myself? No. I think I will stick to the hair-dye story. But thanks, Jules!