My cat died. The grief that has followed has haunted me, a bald reminder that even at 36 years old there are new ways for the world to hurt you. But in the pain, I find myself looking for something beautiful, too.

A man I once loved told me that his greatest disappointment came when his dreams came true. A lifetime of promises to himself that one day he would do it all led him to one day, when he did, in fact, do it. And when he arrived at the golden moment in time, the finish line had disappeared. This week, I’m feeling a bit the same.

Ladybird, ladybird, fly away home, your house is on fire, your children alone. I broke up with Will this week. The heat soared to 38 degrees and I shrivelled under the glare. Like the dry scrub, I felt like I would erupt into flames at any moment. I felt brittle, ready to snap. And I did.

Falling in love takes time. Whether it’s after-work drinks or late night whispered conversations from bed, the spinning of the spiderweb takes up space in and amongst normal life. So as a single mum with barely enough room for a regular haircut, where am I meant to find the time for love?

I am beginning to worry that confidence just isn’t for me, in the same way I’ve never suited a fringe. I’ve had a few runs at fringes — curly, straight, long, short — but one way or another, I’ve always had to grow them out to avoid looking like a Padovana chicken. Maybe feeling confident is the same for some folks: a nice daydream, but an unlikely conclusion.

Emergencies have very rarely come up for me as a single parent, but when they do… it’s chaos. Usually there is at least one other person to panic with you. Another adult human who can mop at flooding water with tea towels, or remove glass from your foot with tweezers, or hold the end of a collapsing shelf until you can remove all the glassware. When you’re on your own, however, it’s fully-fledged chaos.

At an age where most women are starting to fade into the background, Melanie Dale is doing just the opposite. Her bright, haute-couture style outfits are all styled from thrift and second-hand clothing, sewn and updated by Melanie herself. It’s part Clueless, part Patsy Stone, and almost always finished with a pair of towering heels and a hat. Newly diagnosed with ADHD and autism, Melanie treats her clothing like a suit of armour. I found out why.