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I am not generously endowed with brows and lashes. My brows have always been, though not overplucked, thin. As for the eyelashes, they’re quite short and most definitely not lushly thick. It’s a family thing. My sister also has short, sparse eyelashes, which also briefly fell out in lockdown, ( I know – quite bizarre), although they’ve grown back now.

There was a period in medieval France where the ladies at court shaved off their brows and scraped back their hair under tall head dresses. High foreheads were considered beautiful. I’d have slotted in quite well with that fashion.

Luckily for our children, (my three and my sister’s two), there’s been some genetic countering of this follicle challenge from the paternal sides. All five put their mothers to shame. As for the next generation, there has been further lavishly hairy input from partners, so all five of the smalls and notsosmalls are enviably calf-like in the distribution of their eye-framing.

This lack of mine is more pronounced now since the donkey incident, over five weeks ago now. One remaining souvenir of that fateful day is a partly missing right eyebrow and a few little scars around it. Heigh ho! As I write this, a slightly stroppy teenage spaniel pup is trying to gain my attention. There is a large furry apricot paw which keeps just missing my keyboard, and she’s displaying her long, thick, tapered brown eyelashes to perfection. She doesn’t need to flutter them.