I knew it was only a matter of time before young ladies slung the contents of their make-up paraphenalia and went out into the world naked and unashamed.
The natural look is back and a jolly good thing too.
Things had got so bad that restaurants and pubs had to steam-clean their cups and glasses to get the lipstick off lip-contact areas.
Any lass who was caught out in the rain while queueing to get in the disco looked like she was peering from behind bars the way her mascara was running.
One poor girl’s enlarged and sculpted breast production surgery exploded on the charabanc en route to Blackpool on a works outing, whilst her mate’s lips looked like bicycle pedals when the botox injections went wrong.
It may surprise you to know that before I was a babe-magnet I pinched and applied my sister’s make-up in shipping quantity. Without it, whenever I dined out I had a place laid-up for me underneath the table so no-one could see me.
My sensitive features looked like a lunar landscape with all the craters where I had applied pressure to the blackheads therein. My bottle nose burned brightly despite a generous coating of perfumed plaster of Paris.
Then I saw the light and hid the lot under a beard.
Well, most of it anyway.
It worked on the same principle as sweeping all the grot under the carpet.
This gave me the self-confidence I had lacked.
I pioneered the ‘au natural’ look and ate at the table again.
My new butch look attracted the chicks like moths to a candle and I had to beat them off with a crowbar. (Spot the porky did you?)
Also affected was my kid sister who saved a fortune now I wasn’t purloining her perfumery.
So much so that Este Lauder and Revlon contacted her personally and asked where were they going wrong?
Apparently their shares had fallen like grouse at Balmoral on the first day of the season.
To beard or not to beard, that is the question.
But it doesn’t apply to me, my beard is almost 60 years old and it’s here to stay.