Where exactly is the collarbone?

Last night we attended the first of two Christmas parties. It was a small gathering of just ten people in a locally owned Italian restaurant run by folks from the boot of Europe. It was fun - lots of good food and great company. The husband and I, pictured below, look like the rest of the European population in our dark clothing. Not a scrap of festive red or green amidst the navy and black to liven up our outfits.

Honestly, I didn't have time to agonise over my wardrobe because I was in a bit of a tizzy about my hair. I always wait as long as possible in-between dye jobs on my prodigious white hairs, until I just can't stand to see them blinding me with their light every time I glance in the bathroom mirror. I also asked that an inch or so be taken off the length of my hair. It was resting on my collarbone and then flipping up. I told Sophie the stylist that I wanted the length shortened so it would just graze my collarbone. As you can see in the pic above, my British stylist got a bit too scissor happy and lopped off more than I asked. Alas, it is hair and will grow, albeit at a slow middle-aged pace. And so I'll try not to dwell on the fact that my day old haircut will be about the right length in March.