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The truth about emigrating | Grazia

I’M THE PROUD DAUGHTER OF AN IMMIGRANT. Her grandparents? Also immigrants. I don’t know for sure, but if I had to guess, I’d wager that their ancestors were nomads of some description, too – in my mind, exotic and a bit piratey, but with all their own teeth. I would accept circus folk as a solid alternative. It would explain a lot.

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What I’ve learned from Disney | Grazia

I BLAME DISNEY FOR MY HAIR. I also blame a not-insignificant, mid-Noughties obsession with the show The Girls Next Door, and a brief flirtation with the idea that if I acquired the biggest, bounciest hair extensions in town, I’d look more like Penelope Cruz in Blow, and less like an original-lineup Sugababe that left before the budget really kicked in.

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Finding Neverland | Grazia

I’VE JUST BLEACHED MY HAIR. ‘Midlife-crisis blonde’ I’m calling it. Annoyingly, I’m not quite middle-aged enough for it to fully warrant that kind of moniker, although I can imagine it’s my imminent 33rd birthday – all gifts and sympathy welcome, by the way – that made me do it, acting as a not-so-subtle reminder that you can no longer legitimately call me a spring chicken with a straight face.

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The power of female friendship | Grazia

SOMETIMES, THINGS GO WRONG. I SAY THIS FROM CONSIDERABLE EXPERIENCE. My life has run the gamut of spectacular wrongness over the decades; starting from age six when I tore my M&S knickers falling out of a tree in a packed pub garden, right the way through to sending a WhatsApp screenshot back to the same person a few months ago.

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