'Going for gold'

According to the song, in olden days a glimpse of stocking was looked on as something shocking.

- Gabrielle Mullarkey

Growing up in the 'good to glow' tanning heyday of the past century, I similarly felt that a glimpse of the snowy skin above my ankle line would cause folk to tsk tsk and shudder.

Tending to the translucent, my friends and I tried every trick in the book to enter a golden age – going for gold. Unable to move to California, we'd read Jackie magazine's 'Tanning tips to make you a sunshine sizzler!' and devised our own methods, spending summer holidays in the noonday sun with butter rubbed into our faces. Of course, it never worked. Ever strangers to organic tanning products or the word 'gradual', we'd just turn lobster red and smell like a fry-up.

In my 20s, I was asked to be a bridesmaid at a summer wedding, alongside three leggy types with glowing, bottle-enhanced tans. The bride outlined her vision for the dresses, including a word that every pasty person dreads – 'halterneck'. Followed by two more to finish her off – 'pastel blue'.

Unless I tanned, quickly, I was going to resemble a chunk of veiny Stilton.