This is my real hair colour on the right, my son is on the left - used in a card design for my business in Cornwall. Called Coppernob Design.
Someone else has taken the name now. Just as well, with all the illnesses I've had recently the top of my hair is white and the bottom half is red.
Being a redhead is part of me, I loved it. My distinctive hair colour pleased me. Both my sisters and mother and father had black hair. Black Irish from the Spanish who were wrecked on the shores of Ireland after the failed Armada attack.
But I like my Irish grandad am a throwback to the Vikings, another invading force. I have freckles and very white skin, not like the olive skin of my two sisters.
I want it back, not just the colour of my hair but my health. I want to have long red hair and be back in Cornwall where I was happiest, looking out of the bedroom window at the cobalt blue sea.
Oxfordshire is pretty, but it doesn't suit me. I feel I've lost my identity here, and certainly my health.
I want to shop in Truro for a treat on Saturday, go to the Penlee Gallery on Sunday and look at the exhibits and have a coffee. Perhaps it's just a holiday I need, it's been a very hard year.
We're going to St Ives for New Years Eve. Looking forward to it. It's always fun. Last time it was with friends and family. Since we moved back to be with everybody for some reason we are now "billy no mates" and spend our time mostly alone.
Feeling ill and nostalgic today as the year winds to it's close. God 2016 was bad enough but 2017 topped that with cherries on.
For the past six months I have been in hospital, visiting A&Es, at the Doctor, at the specialists, carted off with a minor stroke, just this week already 2 visits for Llabrinthitus a nice new illness foisted on me because I didn't have enough!
Last week only the Hospital, the Doctors, the opticians. Seems never ending. I feel I have achieved nothing this year apart from keeping alive and I have to thank my Guardian Angels for that - they are amazing.
Even my Sealed Knot adventures have been curtailed.
I didn't realise how lucky I was until it was all gone, at my best I had a house in Cornwall of my own bought after my divorce, a little motorhome, shared a house in Buckinghamshire with my new husband, had a great job, my Sealed Knot, my family around me, a reasonable amount of health.
Today I sit alone feeling morose, (which is one of the after effects of a stroke), they tell me.
Trying to make sense of it all.
I haven't written much. No energy.
This is the most I've written for weeks.
Will write again when I feel a bit more cheerful and less sorry for myself.