I was a not-so-delightful deb

In 1964, debs were the ones who came out. They did it in Hermès headscarves and style. I came out in spots.

My acne defied all diets and remedies, including my disappointed mother’s anointing my face with Milton, last used to disinfect my nappies.

Disguised with make-up, back-combed and adorned with hairpieces, flouncy frocks and floral earrings, I remained repulsive. I hated my pitted and volcanic reflection. Being told to smile and that an inferiority complex was conceitedness didn’t help. Nor did knowing that vast sums were being squandered on trying to give me a rollicking good time.

I was riddled with the guilt of ingratitude. Lingering and hoping someone would take me to supper after a cocktail party was useless. I was destined to leave alone to return tipsily to a packet of biscuits in my dismal room, on the top floor of the dismal Sesame Imperial and Pioneer Club in Mayfair.

Staying with friends was even lonelier. They did get asked out to dinner; I didn’t.

Waiting for the phone to ring was pointless after 7.30, and going alone to the cinema wasn’t done.

As the parties became more extravagant and grander, things got worse. Without a car, there was no escape from a dance in the country. I had to wait until whoever had driven me there was ready to leave – at dawn.

Without partners, I lurked in luxurious loos and the stateliest bushes, smoking, scowling and longing for home, while the bands played on … for ever.

I was desperate to dance, but, in those days, that required a man. Being taken to smooch in dark and sexy nightclubs was as hopeless an aspiration as attempting to transform my cratered, full-moon face into a lookalike Jean Shrimpton by starvation and sucking in my cheeks. Then, in late summer, a miracle happened … I got glandular fever. At last, I had an honourable excuse to flee home to Scotland, with the additional, dubious kudos of having conceived – albeit immaculately – the kissing disease.

By Amanda Nicholson, Adstockfields, Bucks, who receives £50

Readers are invited to send in their own 400-word submissions about the past