Mummy and botak me What’s the obsession with the Number Three? I must insist that it doesn’t suit me I squeezed and I scrunched but could barely free Any memory of turning thirty. I can hardly sing, I didn’t win the grammy I dance like a klutz, quite like a zombie A philanthropist I’m not, I’m no Gandhi I can’t bake although I worship Jamie. Well the walk down the aisle must definitely be The highlight of being two and thirty And even then I almost nimbly Did a somersault in my snugly tied saree. My hairstyles have ranged from short to frizzy My hair colour would have made Renoir envy... read more