Candyfloss

Last night as Portia and I went once more into the breech - aka the local generic dodgy nightclub - I had an odd encounter in the toilets.



A woman in her mid 40s stood next to me at the mirror and turned to me as I reapplied my lipstick.

"I wish my hair was glossy like yours, mine just looks like candy floss and I can't do a thing with it," she said fingering her curly flyaway blonde locks.

We started chatting about different hair care products and as we did the details of why she, a once happy mother of three children, was once again thrown into the hedonistic misery of the 40 somethings scene that thrives inside the particular club we were in.

She did have it all, the happy and warm life that many of us dream of in the concept of matrimony. She had clearly once been a beauty, with amber eyes and high cheekbones, but had clearly been putting her family and hubby first for many years and had neglected herself.

Then one day, about six months ago, her husband walked out and, not without insulting her appearance, personality and general being, had crushed her world.

This woman's husband had not just abandoned her - her stole something from her. Her family, her life, her self and worse still her sense of hope.

But she was here, in this awful meat market, trying. Wearing the going out clothes she used to wear for family functions on a frame that was almost three stone lighter through the grief of a break-up. But she was doing that thing that marks out survivors from those who fall at the wayside.

I turned to her and said: "You know what you should do. Go to the hairdressers, go find yourself a new look to mark the new single you, buy some hair serum and find yourself again.

"You are beautiful, I mean look at your divine cheekbones."

Candyfloss was lost somewhere between bashful blushing and tears. Clearly it had been so long since someone had called her beautiful.

I smiled at her and said "good luck" before returning to the dancefloor to rejoin Portia in time for my favourite dancing song (Queen's Don't Stop Me Now).

I'd like to pay tribute to Candyfloss and all women who go on, rebuild and thrive in the absence of hope, the absence of that which they have grown to know and rely on and above all in the absence of a man.

And I'd also call for you all to help the Candyflosses of this world - because they are everywhere looking for a glimmer of hope - just by being a warm reality check that preserves their dignity and helps them move on.



Suze x