I’m 65, and though I’ve never obsessed over my looks, my grey hair has started to win the battle. Not just a strand or two—whole patches at the roots. Visiting the salon no longer seemed as easy as it once was: between the time, cost, and waiting, I began to wonder if it’s really that scary to dye my hair at home. After all, I’ve done it myself all my life—what could possibly go wrong? Off I went to the local chemist, not a fancy hairdressing shop. I asked for “something to cover the grey.” The assistant asked about colour, and I replied, “Just plain brown, nothing wild.” She handed me a box that looked reassuringly serious and understated, featuring a woman with lovely hair. “Covers grey 100%” it promised. I didn’t read any further. Home I went, certain it’d all be sorted in an hour. I donned an old t-shirt, grabbed a towel, mixed the dye as directed, and applied it in my bathroom mirror. Everything seemed normal: the colour was dark, as usual. While waiting, I decided to do the washing up. Twenty minutes on, I caught my reflection. My hair didn’t look brown, but purple. I figured it must be the lighting. Surely I was imagining it. When it came time to rinse, I knew I’d made a grievous error. As soon as the water hit my hair, I saw it—first purple, then dark coffee, and finally almost black. In the steamy mirror, there I was, with lilac and violet streaks and a shade I couldn’t even describe. Sure, the grey had vanished. But at what cost? I blow-dried my hair, hoping the colour might change as it dried. It didn’t—if anything, it deepened. I looked like a failed teenage fashion experiment, not a 65-year-old woman. I started to laugh, because really, what else could I do? I video-called my daughter, and as soon as she saw me, she barely held in her laughter. She said, “Mum… what have you done?” All I could manage was, “Book me a hair appointment.” The next day, I had to venture out with my purple hair. I wrapped a scarf around my head, but the violet still peeked through. At the corner shop, they asked if it was a new style. A lady at the bakery told me how brave I was to go for such a colour. I nodded as if it was entirely intentional. Two days later, I went to the salon—pride nowhere in sight. The hairdresser took one look, immediately understood, and didn’t judge. She simply said, “It happens more often than you think.” I left the salon with tidy hair, a lighter purse, and a clear lesson: there are some things you think you can still do just like before… until you end up with purple hair. Since then, I’ve accepted two truths—grey hair doesn’t ask permission, and some battles really are best left to the professionals. Not a family drama, just a true-life British hair dye mishap.

Im 65 now, and although Ive generally been at ease about how I look, lately the white hairs have definitely been winning. And not just a stray one or twowhole streaks, especially at the roots. Going to the hairdresser doesnt seem as simple as it used to. Between the time, the cost, and having to book in, I started to wonder if maybe it wouldnt be a disaster to just dye it myself at home. After all, Ive coloured my hair for most of my life. What could possibly go wrong?

So I popped into the local chemist instead of one of those fancy salons. Told the girl on the counter I needed a hair dye for covering greys. She asked what colour, and I just said, Oh, just a nice chestnut brownnothing dramatic. She handed me a box that looked all very proper and understated, with a woman with lovely hair on the front. It declared boldly, 100% grey coverage. That sold it. I didnt bother reading anything else. Headed home completely convinced Id have this sorted within the hour.

I grabbed an old T-shirt, pulled out a towel, mixed up the dye as the leaflet said, and got to work in front of the bathroom mirror. At first, everything seemed normal. The colour was dark, as usual. I sat down to wait the required time and thought Id make myself useful by doing the washing up and tidying the kitchen.

About twenty minutes later, I noticed something odd. When I glanced in the mirror, my hair didnt look brown at allit looked purple. I thought it must be the weird lighting in the bathroom. Told myself I was just imagining things.

But when it was time to rinse, I knew something had gone awry. The moment the water hit my hair, I saw it turnfirst purple, then dark coffee, and then nearly black. I stared at my reflection through the steamy glass, and there I was, with streaks of lilac and violet and some other bizarre colour I couldnt even name. Sure, the white hairs were gone. But at what cost?

I tried blasting my hair dry with the hairdryer, hoping maybe the colour would settle as it dried. No such luck. If anything, it just got even more vibrant. I looked like Id just stormed out of some dodgy teenage fashion shoot, not like a woman of 65. I just couldnt help but laughwhat else can you do?

So I called my daughter on FaceTime and as soon as she saw me, she could hardly contain her laughter. She just said,
Mum what have you done?
And all I could say was,
Book me in at the hairdresser, love.

The next day, I had to go out as I was. I wrapped a scarf around my head, but the purple still poked through. At the corner shop, someone asked if it was a new style. A woman at the bakery told me how brave I was for going for such bold colours. I just nodded, as if Id meant it all along.

Two days later, I went to see the hairdresserno pride left, to be honest. As soon as she saw me, she knew exactly what had happened. She didnt judge. She just said,
Happens more often than youd think, really.

I left the salon with my hair sorted, a lighter purse, and a clear lesson: there are some things you think you can still do just like you used to until youre confronted with purple hair. So now, Ive accepted two truthswhite hairs come whether youre ready or not, and some battles are better fought by professionals.

Its really not a family crisis, just one of those stories you cant help but laugh about.