Save me from my unkind reflections

But after three hours of tinting and primping, you look like roadkill. "Why are salon mirrors so brutal?" I wailed. Hari shrugged. "Sorry but you need full natural light to cut hair properly — no shadows."

It's pathetic at 40, but my life is now spent hunting down the kindest mirrors in London. From department stores and train stations to restrooms, I could go on Mastermind.

I know, for example, that the curve of the windows on Central line Tubes makes them ideal for adjusting your lipstick (unlike the Northern line, which cuts you off at the neck). I'll travel halfway across London to visit the subterranean Ladies at King's Cross. Charing Cross loos may look like a Swedish open prison but the mirrors are surprisingly restorative, while the ones at Euston are wrist-slitting.

You may sneer, but the right reflective surface can transform your day. As can the wrong one: Jigsaw changing rooms are a particular nightmare because the mirrors are outside the cubicle. You try standing in an ill-fitting size 14 frock in front of a row of lithe 23-year-olds and see how your self-esteem fares.

The optimum mirror is in an all-white room with no natural daylight. No harsh strip lighting to highlight next week's spots. No unkind glare that makes you look like a greased tangerine. If you must have curtains try pink or orange — they give you a sun-kissed glow.

When I'm running around town I carry with me the "semiotic list" of great mirrors. If one is not to hand I sometimes find myself casually holding the back of a dessert spoon to check my teeth.

Mirrored walls in shops and restaurants, though, are a fairground nightmare. Sometimes I spot a middle-aged woman looming with a shopper. And realise it's me.

But the true enemy is the nightclub. Who in their right mind needs to see themselves looking three times larger in neon strip? And as for that modish black glass you get in sushi bars, applying lipstick is like pinning the donkey on the tail.

My life in the mirror is the triumph of hope over experience. On those rare occasions when I think: "That's it, I'll never look better," I always know it won't last: the next shiny surface will bring me crashing back down to earth. Hence my reflection obsession: you're only as good as your last mirror.