Kylie Minogue, leather jackets, grown-up sex scenes ... no wonder we backcombed our hair to blag our way in
January 1990: the first month of a thrilling new decade. I am embracing the mood by jumping on the 111 bus from my small South Walian village, jetting off to the buzzing metropolis of Swansea. I am joined on this illicit adventure by three school-friends. We have spent hours debating what coloured jeans we should wear and spraying our backcombed fringes into frosty tsunamis. We have to pass a huge test at the newly opened UCI cinema, after all. We have to look 12, and I’m a few months off that yet.
My favourite film when I was 12 – and yes, honestly, Mr UCI, I’m really, genuinely 12, ignore my quivering knees and my huge bag of strawberry shoelaces – was the first film I was brave enough to fake my age for (and yes, I got in). That film was The Delinquents, starring my ultimate heroine, Kylie Minogue. I’d convinced myself I had known Minogue well since I was nine. She regularly accompanied my tea in front of the TV, on Neighbours. She was cute, she was funny, but her car mechanic character, Charlene, also stood her ground; her first appearance on the show involved her punching Scott Robinson (Jason Donovan), who later became her husband. She was quick-tempered, as I was, but also rebellious in a safe, gentle way. She was everything I wanted to be.
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