I thought long and hard about this and although I was sorely tempted to post pics of Kidling Grand at about 18 months (doing a kinda Charlie Chaplin impersonation with a big cheeky grin, Grandpa's shoes and a shoe horn as a walking stick) juxtaposed with the nearly 14-year-old reality of today (trainee oik).
But in the end I decided to be a little more ego-centre. Or perhaps I should say hair-centric.
I don't know about you, but the state of my hair is perhaps the biggest factor in how I feel about myself. On those (sadly rare) good hair days when everything falls into shiny, happy place, I feel so much better about the bags under my eyes and the spare tyres gathering around my middle section.
On bad hair days, one look in the mirror can reduce me to a quivering heap of insecurity that no amount of sassy make-up or drop-dead outfits (not that I have any) can change.
So, I was in a very good mood when I walked out of the hairdressers yesterday, having transformed this:
(BEFORE: a rather apologetic looking random barnet)
(AFTER: much happy, and sassier, I hope you'll agree.)
So, at least until my hairdresser's magic wears off, you can call me Your Royal Hairness.