I adore my hairdresser. Finding someone in Dubai who can successfully turn a mousey barnet blonde, without any brassiness, bright orange or, heaven forbid, lime green, is like hitting the wheel of colour jackpot.

We’re at that stage in our relationship (over 4 years now) where I can plonk myself into the chair, eye up the pile of magazines, and ask for the usual. “Same again,” I shrug. And she sets to work, with plenty of friendly banter and a cup of tea.

The foils go in. The root colour goes on. All neatly stacked, without leaks or spills. Then off it all comes at the sink, where her quick-fingered assistant scrubs and massages your scalp till your nerve endings dance.

“Curls?” my hairdresser asks. “Or straight?” And, either way, I know the blowdry will be a sculpted work of art compared to my half-hearted efforts to tame my mane at home.

(If you contact me, I’ll even give you her number as I know well that the search for a skilled colourist in Dubai is a mission.)

From high bleach to hamster: Healthier-looking hair, but will I miss being a blonde?

Occasionally, there’s even some drama in the salon, like the time a high-maintenance client whose curls had dropped overnight came back and threatened to call the police (that’s Dubai for you). But, mostly, it’s a predictably relaxing experience, that ends in blonde.

Until yesterday, when – after 30 years – I ditched the bleach and went darker. “I’ve been thinking about your hair,” she said and suggested some (kinder) changes. There was talk about skin tone and base colour, lowlights and ash tones. Much of which caught me off guard, until a photo was produced of a fair-headed model with the most beautiful mix of light-catching colours.

“Okay,” I hastily agreed, throwing all caution to the wind (oh, how I wanted her golden highlights).

So, how did it turn out? After three decades, my new darker look, I’ll admit, is taking some getting used to. There’s depth, and more shine, coupled with the fun of trying different coloured clothing and make-up. Son1 loved it (“I was getting bored with your hair Mummy!”). Son2 cried. DH said he liked it. As for me, after the shock wore off, it’s now growing on me.

Just a few more honey highlights next time, and I think I’ll love it.