I’m on my way to the City. Back again to my old stomping ground. This time not to work, nor to meet up for drinks with old colleagues surprisingly.
I’m here at The Private Clinic because I need to look ten years younger. 43 and nearly my birthday with two under fives. In fact, I would have said that I was ageing really, really well up until my angel Gabriel was born last October. Angel in every way bar one – he hasn’t quite mastered the art of sleeping yet. It’s slowly happening but for at least seven of the eight months it was the norm for me to wake up every 2-3 hours. That’s fine when you have a newborn – you run on the love hormones and the novelty but believe me it takes its toll when it’s relentless. Sleep deprivation really is a form of torture.
Anyway, the young me became old, haggard me with big black rings around my eyes; something I’m not used to sporting. Continue Reading