Shannon put her feet on the table so everyone in the carriage could see her new impossibly high-heeled shoes.

They were turquoise and plastic. Barbie would probably have dismissed them as too tacky, a subject she is something of an expert in, but her friends Amy, Hannah and Bethany thought they were "totally lush".

The rest of the passengers on the Leeds to York train pretended not to be interested, particularly as Shannon was inadvertently flashing her pants while showing off her shoes, but it was difficult not to take another look at the sheer hideousness of her footwear, like taking a second, unexplainable sniff of sour milk.

"They're from the market," she said, glowing with pride at her twin acquisitions. "They do 'em in pink an' red an' yeller. The pink an' red were all right but I din't like the yeller 'cos it looked like cat sick."

After much tittering and the odd mock horrified shriek of "Shannon!", the girls settled down to the business at hand - applying their third or possibly fourth layer of make-up.

One glance at this foursome and you knew they had pillows like the Turin shroud; a perfect reflection of their slap-encrusted face imprinted on the cotton every morning.

Their make-up technique, though a little generous for more sophisticated tastes, was undeniably well-practiced.

Shannon managed to stop her lips flapping just long enough to slide on a shiny slick of baby pink lipstick.

The name suggests it was supposed to look cute and fresh like a newborn, but it was actually more reminiscent of a baby's bottom rubbed raw with nappy rash. Amy rubbed a similar shade of eyeshadow in a solid block from her lashes to her browline, digging into the coloured dust again and again until not an iota of eye-space was left unclogged.

Hannah used the same technique on her cheeks, only this time the dust was speckled with sparkles for extra effect.

And Bethany, obviously happy with her clown-like appearance (all that was missing was a bucket of custard and some floppy shoes), spent ten minutes jabbing slides of various colours, shapes and levels of hideousness into her hair.

Then - God help us - Shannon started singing. "We are the cheeky girls," she yodelled, wiggling her shoulders so vigorously that one of the straps on her T-shirt (in February!) slipped almost down to her elbow. "You are the cheeky boys."

The man in the smart suit across the aisle found something in his briefcase so fascinating at this point, or rather at the point when Shannon started to point at him, that his head actually disappeared into its leather jaws, not to appear again until the Minster was in sight.

"I like blue," squealed Hannah, apropos of nothing. "Poo," shouted Shannon. "Blue are poo." The penny now dropped for those in the carriage groovy enough to know that Blue are a popular quartet who regularly have smashing singles in the hit parade.

"I love Pink," Shannon continued, referring to another colourful chart-topper. "Pink stinks," retorted Hannah, to the obvious surprise of her more forceful friend.

There was now a moment of blissful silence as Shannon stared malevolently at Hannah; Hannah stared at the table and twirled a strand of straggly hair nervously around her finger; and Amy and Bethany stared at each other, wide-eyed, trying not to let even the smallest titter escape from their tightly-clenched baby pink lips.

Thankfully, the High Noon moment ended as the train pulled into York station. Shannon helpfully yelled "we're here" and the girls shoved their possessions (their make-up, their magazines and their bottles of vivid, almost fluorescent pop) into their candy-coloured bowling bags and exited the carriage in a noisy tumble - followed closely by their mums.

They were loud, garish and only just tolerable in the cramped conditions of a train carriage.

They were also about five years old.

If girls are allowed to grow up any quicker, they will be straight out of the womb and headlong into the nearest nightclub.

Updated: 10:21 Monday, February 23, 2004