The first cut is the deepest, says Debra Brock, who has misty water-coloured memories of her palette debut?
Margate, the 1980s. On a Saturday evening we?d go round each others? houses, show off our latest ra-ra skirt, flouncy shirt and tucker boots ensembles, and wonder if we could achieve an Adam and the Ants style white stripe across our noses with plimsoll whitener (we could – too well. Oh for a decent balm cleanser back then). Our homemade New Romantic mix tapes would be playing on the stereo (once, thrillingly, Spandau Ballet actually came and played live at the Winter Gardens, throwing roses into the crowd at the end. I didn?t get one, despite screaming myself hoarse, but I?m over it now which is obviously why I?m still bringing it up after 30 years), roll-on lipgloss rendered our mouths so sticky we doubled as fly strips. It was all very different to what we?d been up to in the daytime, when we were to be found in the various emporia of Margate High Street, wearing brightly coloured 100% polyester dresses-cum-overalls and stacking shelves. Over the years we?d taken up the cream of the Saturday girl positions. My friend Jo had a plum job in the M&S food hall, where at 5.30pm on Saturday evening they sold off all the food ?best before? Sunday* at rock bottom prices to staff. Saturday tea at her house was always ace. Samantha had a job in the chemists, where she got to watch the lads from the boys? school linger, getting progressively more shuffly and red-fac...