As I rinsed the bleach out of my daughter’s hair, I noticed it had a more mustard hue than the icy blonde the box had promised. In that exact moment I realised I’d seriously misjudged the timing of this lockdown ‘project’. I spent the next hour on the phone losing myself in the memories of my 86-year-old French interviewee; my attention flitting between imagined coffees in the Mediterranean sunshine with ol’ Pablo Picasso and the *very real* frantic panic of my freshly bleached teenager throwing me death stares and notes saying, “HOW ARE YOU GOING TO FIX MY HAIR MUM??!!!”