Brandon Martinez, you will forever hold my hair in your hands…

I am not a big hairdresser kind of person. I'm fantastically disloyal, and even more low-maintenance. I might go to a hairdresser once a year, but most of the time when my ends are looking a bit straggly, I pull the kitchen scissors out and whack off the ends.

Last week The Sherpa turned round and said, 'The Blonde's hairdresser is flying in from LA, and coming here to cut some hair. He's doing mine, do you want yours done?'

Naturally I said yes, not least because The Blonde, aka my sister-in-law, has great hair. Also because I last snipped the ends off a couple of weeks ago and I was pretty certain it was completely wonky.

I got back from spending the day with The Eskimo (feeling slightly guilty. She is a Munson's chocolate addict - local chocolatier - and the Beautiful Guru handed me a box of Munsons on Sunday and told me to give them to The Eskimo.

I was planning to, really I was, and I still plan to, but they were on the hall table, and I couldn't help but fish just one out the side, and now they're still there, and OH GOD, WILL SOMEONE PLEASE SAVE ME FROM DIVING INTO CHOCOLATE HELL???), so I phoned home, and The Sherpa said the hairdresser was just finishing off our friend, and I would be next.

I walked in ten minutes later, and found a certain Brandon Martinez standing in my kitchen, and this, my friends, is what he looks like.

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Can I just say, I am a middle-aged mother of four (and sometimes six), who lives in the suburbs, whose idea of danger is now going to the beach for an hour and not putting on sun block.

Bad boys, especially charming ones, are not something I have to contend with anymore, unless you count Twin B hitting his brother then climbing on my lap with an innocent and charming smile. I haven't even seen a bad boy for about ten years, never mind find one standing in my kitchen.

I will tell you this. I thought it was fine, because he had to be gay. Nobody looks like that, is a hairdresser, and is straight. That just wouldn't be fair, for God's sake.

It seems life isn't fair.

So, spectacularly and ridiculously gorgeous and firmly heterosexual hairdresser started cutting my hair, and when he told me I looked hot and sexy, instead of rolling my eyes and tutting in disdain, I turned into a piece of pathetic simpering mush.

By the end of the haircut I was wondering whether I had made a rash decision - BELOVED, CLOSE YOUR EARS - in getting married a few weeks ago.

Then I Googled him. Turns out Brandon Martinez was the star of Blow Out, Salon Diaries and Split Ends, and is the super hot LA hairdresser of the moment. He was described somewhere as the "motorcycle-riding, tattoo-sporting bad-boy of hairdressing". He also has a spectacular line of hair products - B. The Product (click for more info).

And there we were, a kitchen full of grown women, who were all totally pathetic. literally.

So despite the general pathetic-ness of all the women in my kitchen yesterday, the good news is, he gave all of us spectacular haircuts.

Look!

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He is now my personal hairdresser, and even though I have never had one before, I have decided he is the only man I will now allow near my hair.

If you find yourself in West Hollywood, he is at Warren-Tricomi. Look him up. I promise you won't regret it.

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