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Mind and Body of a 30-Something-Year Old but Hands Like a Granny

I have spent so much time slapping various lotions and potions on to my face since I hit 34 that I have quite forgotten about my hands. On track to becoming like Mother Gothel’s gnarled mitts, I’m not sure I’m quite old enough for them to really belong to me.

But they do.

The hands down winner in the hand cream department? It’s a bit like the question people always ask photographers, “What’s the best camera?”  The answer they always seem to give is along the lines of, “…the one you have on you.”  In my experience anyway, hand cream is much the same in that any old thing will do, just as long as you use it.

My current selection looks something like this:

…and is scattered far and wide in places where I hope I’ll remember to use them – top spots are in the car (when you’ve stopped at traffic lights) because when you’re driving you most notice your hands and near the bowl I throw my keys in to at home so that I use it before going out and once I get back.

A DIY hand scrub that my darling Mummy taught me is also particularly good to do whenever you feel a Mother Goth moment coming on: place a small dollop of olive oil straight in to your palm and add a teaspoonful of table salt. Rub your hands together for about a minute before washing briefly with a gentle soap to remove the oily residue. Your paws are instantly beautifully silky soft and feel about 10 years younger.  And it’s free. Slather with liberal amounts of hand cream, post-scrub.

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