I only said okay because I needed her to go away, because how dare she be all “I know what you’re like” when she’s not even here?

She decided to not spend this time of my life with me.

She decided there were more important things.

She decided that it is acceptable she may be killed on the job, just like Dad, and that I may end up on my own.

And that’s fine, it’s her life, I get it, but don’t WhatsApp me at six in the morning under false pretenses with a load of textbook advice just so you can tick the Mum box and sleep at night.

Today is one of those days I wish that I never have to see her again, because what’s actually the point?

Sunday, February 18 #Mothers

I told Kate to never gossip to Mum behind my back again, and we had this super-weird moment where we just stood in the kitchen looking at each other, and then Kate went all parenty on me and said: “I know you’re not happy, Phoebe, and I thought Amelia should know. She’s your mother.”

I think mothers are overrated. Mine certainly is. She does nothing apart from caring about other people and making me absolutely furious.

Monday, February 19 #HalfTerm

I remembered that Polly did her work experience at Toni & Guy, and all she had to do was sweep up hair and make cups of tea. That’s a job I can imagine myself doing. It’s not like being one of the actual hairdressers, all like: Blah blah blah, and where are you going on holiday this year?

10:41 A.M.

I’ve decided to categorically never like a picture of anyone on social media who poses pretty much in the nude.

I’m happy that Chloe Brenton is #simplyloving her new @MacCosmetics Highlighting Set, but why does she have to have her tits hanging out?

What’s wrong with everyone? Why are they so obsessed with being photographed nearly naked? Because do you really want to attract people into your life who like you purely for the way you look? Because Chloe is actually a nice person.

1:41 P.M.

I can’t believe I’m printing off CVs so I can apply to sweep hair off the floor.

7:45 P.M.

I went into the thrift shop this afternoon on my way back from every hairdressing place in Wimbledon.

When I walked in, Alex and Emma were behind the till, and Kate and an old lady with a massively long white ponytail were standing in front of it, and they were all laughing so hard they were literally dying.

When Kate saw me, she was like: “Oh, Phoebe, perfect timing. Come here, you’ll love this.”

Turned out someone had donated picture frames, but with their pictures still in them. They were all family snapshots, like at Chessington, in front of the Eiffel Tower, by the seaside, but the man’s head had been cut out of all of them and replaced by the head of Mickey Mouse.