Flaming Nora

When you're a woman of a certain age (and by you, I mean me) and you hardly ever wear make up, knowing you're going to be photographed and gawped at for a whole day next month finally propelled me into the make-up artist's chair for what they call a make-over. I call it slapping on a load of gunge and trying to grin and bear it, but whatever floats your boat. Call it what you will. So, makeover number 1 - which I've blogged about here . One of the professional make-up artists on a TV show I'm familiar with advised me to go to Bobbi Brown.  I'd heard of them, so that was a start.  I schlepped over to Newcastle with my sister in law for moral support and to look after my handbag. Well, you never know. The make-up artist was the same age as me, so that was a promising start, and to be fair, she didn't once try the hard sell, which I was expecting. She explained in clear and easy terms what she was going to do, what she was doing, and what she'd done....

I had my first ever make-over today.  Not one to usually wear make-up, I found the experience unusual, to say the least. And although it was done by a professional in an upmarket make-up concession of an upmarket department store, I still came out feeling that I looked like a drag queen on speed. Which wasn't really the look I was aiming for.