In 1667, Samuel Pepys wrote in his diary: "Mrs. Stewart, very fine, with her locks done up with puffs, as my wife calls them: and several other great ladies had their hair so, though I do not like it; but my wife do mightily - but it is only because she sees it is the fashion."

Here, there is no fashion to imitate: the less salon visits, the better; grow out the roots and stay healthy, there is no one to impress. Of course, I tease, because, pandemic or no, there will always be vanity.

I used to live with an elderly woman who had snow-white hair. She declared that if she ever felt sick enough to call an ambulance, she'd take a bath first. She continued to age, and each health issue was like an axe swing to an oak tree, before felled in a hospital bed where she lie, awake to tell me a few days before she would die, that on the other side, when she ran into my dad, she’d tell him hello from me. I really don’t remember what her hair looked like, flattened as it must have been, against the pillow.

It's summer now. My hair is long so I can tie it up. All I need is a hat to wear to the beach. I'm thinking of a fedora, but perhaps I'll check Instagram to see what other women are wearing.