Glasgow, June 1967
3pm Saturday afternoon: The biggest adventure of my life is about to begin! I was seventeen last week, and my parents have finally consented to let me go to a disco in Glasgow. My excitement is off the scale. I feel like a proper teenager now, although I am lurching between elation at my new found freedom, and terror as my adventure brings.
My hair is in giant rollers, and I am sporting a fetching quilted housecoat as I go rummaging in the wardrobe for a suitable outfit. I check my appearance every five minutes, because a giant acne spot is erupting right on the tip of my nose. I’m sure it’s so big it can be seen from space. A carbuncle. Mount Etna. The end of the world as I know it.
4pm – Feeling more frantic by the minute, I phone my friends to ask for advice on said facial eruption. I get a recommendation to apply several layers of toothpaste, leave to dry, then to pile on the makeup.
5pm – My make-up bag spills a pile of brightly coloured lotions and potions across my dressing table, as I make my eyes black, my lips pale, and I have made sure that the carbuncle is buried under cement-like layers of toothpaste and foundation.
6pm – I back-comb my hair and apply half a can of lacquer, spluttering and choking on the fumes as I make a mental note to avoid naked flames.
6.30pm – With my hair suitably crispy, I don white knee length boots, scoop up my coat and handbag, and attempt to leave the house avoiding my parents. I shout a cheerful goodbye from the door.
10 seconds after 6.30pm – I am summoned back by my father. ‘What's that you're wearing?’ he asks, ‘Get a vest on under that. It's far too low in the neck.’ In actual fact, it is a modest long sleeved dress with a slightly scooped neckline.
6.35pm – I return to my room, carry out the prescribed changes to my dress code. A thick vest now peeks alluringly from my neckline. I pass muster and disappear into the night to meet my friends, resolving to stash the vest in my handbag at disco. I also resolve to remember to put it back on before returning home.
6.45pm – The adventure is about to start! Oh, my heart! I meet my friends at the bus stop and we do our customary greeting dance of jumping up and down while shrieking and laughing hysterically.
6.50pm – We clamber upstairs on the bus, all of us chattering at once.
7.15pm – We join the queue snaking up several flights of stairs to the disco, four stories above. The giant spot on my nose is struggling to break loose from its bonds. We joke and laugh with the crowd whilst I secretly compare myself to the other girls, who all appear to be acne-free.
7.40pm – Finally, we get to the doorway of the disco. I am in need of oxygen after coming through the noxious blue haze of cigarette smoke on the way up. A large bouncer informs us the club is alcohol-free and asks if we have any contraband concealed about our persons. He fixes us with a long hard stare, and finally lets us in.
8pm – The vest is crammed into my handbag. Further lacquer is applied to my hair. More layers are piled on to the carbuncle. Extra glue is applied to my false eyelashes. A friend assists me by unsticking my top and bottom eyelids.
8.15pm – On the dance floor! Motown music! Dancing round the handbags!
8.30pm – A handsome guy in a suit and tie asks me to dance. Hughie fae Easterhoose.
9pm – Hughie steers me to a booth and buys me a Coke. The ultra-violet lights above us turn my dress to an ethereal glowing robe. They also turn Hughie’s fine set of upper dentures to a luminous array of tombstones when he smiles. Scenes from Dracula films flit through my mind.
9.20pm – My friend comes over from the dance floor and hands me a mirror. Urgent whispers ensue. ‘Take a look – you need to do something!’ The ultra-violet light has illuminated the layers of toothpaste on the carbuncle, and my nose shines forth like a purple beacon.
Hughie and I smile at each other. We are bonded by our flaws. We look into each other’s eyes. The light from his dentures and from my carbuncle combines, and shines around us. It is a wonderful ultra-violet aura of acceptance and lurve.