Rites of Passage in 60s/70s NE England

ओने इयर ओं

2008-11-30T22:18:00.001Z

व्हेन इ राइट आईटी कीप्स गोइंग अ बीत सतरंगे।
इ'म वोंदेरिंग इफ आईटी'स बेकाउसे थिस रेफेर्स तो थे सिक्स्तिएस एंड वे सव थिंग्स अ बीत प्स्य्चेदेलिक अत थे टाइम। और मय्बे आईटी'स थे मशरूम सीज़न agaon

Ellen

2007-10-23T22:11:00.000+01:00

A Blast from the past. Ellen emailed yesterday and came for a cup of tea today. First time I'd seen her for oh at least 20 years.

"Shit. Fuck you haven't changed. " She said
Good cos neither has she.

A Big Idea

2007-03-09T21:03:00.000Z

Here's one - a compilation of funny blogs for a red nose day book, all done in a week or so. whizzy whizz

http://troubled-diva.com/labels/rednoseday.html

go on, you know you want to

That Bryan Ferry

2007-02-24T20:55:00.000Z

Hey did you see Bryan Ferry on BBC last night?

It just came on as I was sitting in a hotel doing serious work. The first couple of songs were a bit hmmm, but he picked up considerably. Brilliant really. Hats off etc.

Oh I remember the Roxy Music Days. Many City Hall Gigs, and the lyrics..(possibly misheard, I am the queen of the misheard lyric)
'inflatable baby, disposable darling'
'rhododendron is a nice flower'

GREAT

but obviously not as great as Arthur Lee:
'...and in Manhattan I'll be walking down broadway with you'
'Here we are, our hands are all untied. We'd rather walk than ride'

Gallowgate Culture

2007-02-06T16:10:00.000Z

I've been sorting out images from my phone, getting them put with the right blog bits. Here are 2 spares that tell us about the rich cultural tapestry that is around Gallowgate.

the Chinese Irish centre and as we hip-hoppers would say...

next time I'll crop them properly.

The Morden Tower

2007-02-06T16:03:00.000Z

Where the poets in the Tower were (may still be).

Last time I was out and about in Gallowgate, they'd been knocking buildings down and hey! you can see the Tower as never before in many a year. It's great to see the city walls like that. I suppose if they hadn't been hidden away from the elements for years there wouldn't be so much to see.

and so the story started...

2006-12-07T23:15:00.000Z

Like star wars...the episodes won't necessarily be in chronological order

trying to get the story of Tina's Blog onto video

Van Vliet, Beefheart, Steaming captain etc etc

2006-11-14T16:43:00.000Z

Love over Gold

Here's a link to Beefheart on the people one.

Arthur would've said 'love on earth must be'
Themes

Zappa Beefheart and the City Hall

2006-10-11T19:27:00.000+01:00

Now that I've worked out how to use youtube...

or, failing that:

Here's an illustration

showing how to get that album just right man, and evidence of two of the greatest nights

60's/ 70's legend Arthur Lee has died

2006-08-04T23:52:00.000+01:00

Oh dear

My hero no longer walks the same planet as I, and unlike others in my life, I have no Beliefs to reconcile me.

Oh he contributed so much to the musical canon that is Rock, and Oh to my life: without him I wouldn't have met up with my 60's/70's noughties partner in crime Tina, or had so much fun in my teens and recently before I got Ill...

Apologies, this one will appear elsewhere while I try to recommence Real Life.

Fish and Chips a’ gogo

2006-07-10T20:30:00.000+01:00

OK this happened in the North West, but it’s the same Geordies involved.

When my bruv turned up at UMIST where I was cheerfully working on my desmond we shared house with various others, and a mini car. On our way home from the union one night, we decided to get some Fish and Chips in Moss Side. I was driving, so I parked outside while Bruv and that Ronnie went into the shop.
“Drive!!” they yelled as they bundled back into the back of the mini. I drove then asked why.

This is how to do a raid on a fish and chip shop. First ask for the order you want, in this case Fish and Chips 4 times, then when the assistant has stacked the newspaper wrapped delicacies on the counter , look at the shelf behind him/her and ask for something from it. In this case ‘and a saveloy’. Then when she turns round, leg it into the car where your dumb sister the getaway driver is waiting.

They tasted brilliant.

The Poets in the Tower

2006-03-27T21:19:00.000+01:00

Poetry played a part in our lives too. Under the Club a ’Gogo was Handysides arcade, built by George Handyside. It was horseshoe shaped and sloped upwards from Percy Street. The late sixties saw a crop of new shops opening in the arcade, one of which was named The Lady and the Unicorn, and had a painting of them on its window. It became Ultima Thule (at the furthest point from the entrances), run by local poets and selling poetry books and publications like IT and Oz. It was there I bought a paperback copy of Adrian Mitchell’s Out Loud. It was cheap because, said Bill, the poet had peed on his pile of books in the night. I didn’t really believe him until years later when I found out that Men do that kind of thing: I’ve had a wet wardrobe and a mate had her electric fire sprinkled. We’d meet up there after school some days, breathing the joss sticks and reading revolutionary tracts (hoho).

There were also the poetry readings in the Morden Tower. The tower is part of the old city walls, very old. (‘Upper room of medieval Town Wall turret, modernised in 1700 by the Guild of Plumbers’ it says in the Newcastle guide.) As well as Adrian Mitchell, we went to hear local poets such as Basil Bunting, Tom Pickard, Barry MacSweeney and Tony Jackson, who performed with blood and guts (well, once there was a set of sheep’s lungs). My poetry highlight was in 1973 when Allen Ginsberg read at the Miners institute, between the Station Hotel and the Lit and Phil (Literary and Philosophical Society). He was awesome – I think I suddenly realised that the local team had some way to go. A lot of us were there: schoolfriends, Defoe, and drama friends. The tower itself was closed at the time.

A friend wrote a lot of poems, I’m proud to say she is now a Proper Published Poet. she knew others, mainly lads who carried folders of their poetry with them, one of whom went out with another friend for a while. How impressive I thought that was: having a man write poems for you.

The power of words.

So Many People: Arthur Lee - Rock Legend and My Long Term Hero

2006-03-18T20:00:00.000Z

So Many People: Arthur Lee - Rock Legend and My Long Term Hero

are you reading this?

2006-03-17T10:20:00.000Z

I suddenly can't view my own blog. Just wondered if anyone else can.

hmmm now who have I offended?

You’ll Always Find Us in the Bathroom at Parties

2006-03-12T18:00:00.000Z

My great Bathroom residency was at one of Defoe’s parties. His family were on holiday and we’d been helping him set up all day, borrowing a record player from Toomey’s house and stashing bottles for emergencies. For some reason Toomey had taken quite a shine to me. I wasn’t sure whether to be flattered or to panic. He looked a bit like Captain Beefheart, which could have been a plus to a fan like myself but I had designs on another of Defoe’s Lost Boys at the time(probably Nixon).
Defoe had bought sauternes because he liked the name (and it was cheap). I’ve never been one for sweet wine but I drank a bottle quickly as a precaution against tasting it. Toomey plied me with more, along with the odd maul, until yonder I saw The Object of My (transient admittedly) Desire. I stood up, realised this was not a wise move, made my apologies and rushed up to the bathroom where I stayed for most of the evening, holding semi-coherent conversations through the door and contemplating whether I was going to be sick, and if so, could I get out without anyone noticing. I did open the door once to let Ellen in for a poo (all heart, me). Outside I could hear Toomey ranting ‘Where’s mah meat? Who took mah meat?’ Flattering or what? I locked the door. At least I wasn’t sick (but may have been if I’d pursued my earlier plans). I didn’t come out til it was quiet and lost boys were snoring downstairs then I did a cowardly creep home. I missed Defoe sneaking into his bedroom with Jolls but did hear later in graphic detail about how his virginity was much more than merely misplaced that night. Unfortunately there was only one toilet in the house – and it was in the bathroom. Well watered flowers down Glebe Avenue.

Tina’s bathroom residency was at a party at my house. She noticed that Marx was a little grubby and did the Only Decent Thing: locked him in the bathroom to sort it out. Oh but she locked herself on the same side. On the landing books were being opened on who was in there but I held my peace and took over a forbidden room with Nixon. Result (later, clearly): Nixon told me I was ‘the most unrandy girl he’d ever met’. You win some, you lose some, but I hadn’t quite lost him yet…Separate toilet in this house and another party 3 doors down, but the flowers were still well-watered down Midhurst Road– so many people.

I’m protecting the guilty here, but could it be you? Key:
Toomey – sock it – socket –
Nixon – president –
Defoe –
Marx – &spencer – St –
Jolls – (car: as in Bolks Bagen)

Defoe and the RVI

2006-03-09T16:01:00.000Z

Aaargh!!! I can't honestly believe she has posted this - the fingers hovered briefly over the delete button but - hell - this is 35 years on innit?

I had known my old man for about a week when we had an interesting weekend. My parents were on holiday and a cousin arrived to stay because his mam had just decided to leave home. Jade was home from uni, abandoning her live-in partner and quite keen to meet the Old Man. Ellen was there as usual (her home wasn’t on a good bus/train route). Defoe (formerly known as the Groover) came from around the corner and a few of my brother’s friends turned up too. We played a lot of music, drank a lot of cider, and smoked a miniscule quantity of dope. Eventually we turned in for the night, sleeping anywhere but my mam’s room (because clearly they would have trip wires and powder traps etc). I had Ellen, and Young Cuz in my room as well as the Old Man, which didn’t inhibit us as I recall. Jade came and took an old eiderdown downstairs, so I guessed it was the bed-settee for her.

At about 2 in the morning, she tapped on the door and came in. She was using her posh, Joanna Lumley type voice, so I knew immediately it was trouble.
“It’s Defoe” she said “He’s bleeding from his penis. We have to get him to hospital”. So I staggered downstairs with OM. There was a bit of disagreement about how it had happened…
“she bit me”
“must have caught on the ring I’m wearing”
…but there was a lot of blood.

Actually cuz - what he said was "You've got teeth in there".

He was feeling faint, unsurprisingly..

That’s how 4 of us came to screech up to the RVI casualty department in my old mini at the crack of dawn dressed in pyjamas. Defoe had my dad’s dressing gown on. We didn’t have the heart to tell him about the huge jagged tear in the bum area. He had other things to worry about, like keeping the cold compresses(mam’s tea towels) in place. We marvelled at the moon as he walked in. I don’t know how the duty team kept their faces straight, between the hissed exchanges of “teeth” and “ring”, but they managed to staunch the flow and Defoe was released a couple of hours later.

We spent the next 2 days at jade’s mum’s, where there was a big toploading washing machine, trying to get the blood out of the towels, an eiderdown and the wool dressing gown. Then we had to get them dry, which we nearly did. There was just a faint damp smell around the eiderdown, so we stuffed it in a cupboard hoping it wouldn’t be missed.
hidden link

From UK to LA – A Petition

2006-03-06T17:23:00.000Z

In 1968 we got up a petition to get the Byrds and Love to come to England. It started with a letter to Disc and Music Echo which they kindly published. We asked for 2 signatures for the petition and got some great letters which we pasted onto a long roll of paper and sent off to Los Angeles. The Love one actually came back marked unknown at this address. How much must that have cost?

We made a lot of friends across the country, and exchanged letters written as a joint stream of consciousness (passing the pen, man). The letters often used multicoloured paper and inks with pictures stuck onto them. I still have some hidden away. One has a strip of tiny faces across the top of the envelope: camo for the stamp. We all listened to John Peel and followed the same bands. Just in case they are out there:
Dougie from Glasgow
Much and Bund from Bristol
Chris from Wales
Wendy from Devon
Peter from Harrogate, studying with Stefan at Plymouth
Barry who worked at Heathrow
And many many others
We didn’t meet any of them (well, not knowingly), though I have tried to find them a few times on friends reunited. It was great to know that there was a crew of like-minded souls spread across the country. Recently it’s been a bit similar as we’ve met some great Love fans during Arthur Lee’s 2002-2005 comeback.

The Byrds Party at the Roundhouse in London

2006-03-01T15:46:00.000Z

25 February 1967

The Byrds were always high on our list of Top Bands. One cold morning, just about 39 years ago, I got an official letter from The Byrds inviting me to a party at the roundhouse in London. They must have sent them to any UK fans who had tried to contact them, because the usual suspects from school had them too. I had only been to London once before, for a day with my family, but that didn’t deter us, nor did the small matter of our age nor the lack of funds. Plots were hatched in school and by telephone. We decided to travel down the night before, by train (we were too scared of the stories we’d heard about hitching), because it’s easier to go missing at night. With any luck, we’d be in London before we were missed. There was a complicated plan involving pretending to stay at each others’ houses, but in the end it was me and Jade at her house and plans to meet Cat and Bra in the Central Station in time for the mail train south which went through so many little stops on its way that it didn’t arrive until daylight. We didn’t have money for the fare, but reckoned we could get on and hide.

On the Big Night we went to bed and waited until the house was quiet. Our escape route was through a window. The window was about a foot square and above the toilet bowl. Jade was a) thinner and b) more adventurous so she went out headfirst and prepared to guide my feet as I emerged. Naturally we wanted to look our best, so, to set off my long curly ginger hair, I was wearing a high waisted short seersucker dress in an orange/red/green/yellow psychedelic swirly print with red tights (perfect outfit for keeping a low profile). We crept out onto the road and caught a bus into town. It was full of pitmen returning from late shift. There was standing room only and we swayed about trying to avoid getting coal dust on our finery. When we arrived the station was bustling with people: some out for the night; some plying their trade with price displayed on their shoe soles; sailors returning home. What there wasn’t was Cat or Bra. We waited as long as we could then went back to Marlborough Crescent to catch the last bus home. Breaking back into a house is more difficult than breaking out and Jade had to climb and wriggle through first then open the door for me. We had tried.

Cat and Bra had gone down the following morning on the train. They went to the party. The Byrds were brilliant. McGuinn himself gave Cat money for her fare home. We were more than simply envious: we were devastated. Bra’s parents were not too chuffed, they phoned around to find out where we were etc.

Back at school a couple of days later the fun started. The head, Bag South, had been tipped off about the adventure. As a classical scholar she knew how these things worked and her main line of enquiry concerned what a couple of 14 yr old girls may have done in exchange for the train fare money. We were summoned and denied all knowledge (so much for solidarity). Bra was grounded.

Looking back, I remember telling my mam when I got the letter, which means she must have been on the alert for escape attempts. Perhaps she thought that when she said no to a 13yr old I’d accept it. If it happened now we’d have made it – text messages would have kept us coordinated, sigh.

postscript from MikeB on the love site
Ah, found it now in my Johnny Rogan Timeless Flight Revisisted 720 page tome now you have got me looking earlier. Some more details if you have not got them:"The following afternoon (which is 25 February as you say) the Byrds attended a 250-strong fan club gathering at the Roundhouse, Chalk Farm. This was a special thank you to the fans who had collected 1,700 signatures urging them to return to England. For the best part of two hours, the group autographed albums and chatted to fans while their records were played as background music. One fan had the foresight to ask Crosby if the Byrds were likely to split up. "Not a chance" he retorted, convincingly. McGuinn, meanwhile, captured part of the event on his new movie camera."

Only Women Bleed

2006-02-25T13:27:00.000Z

She's on her own here people! Jade

Coming to terms with the Bleeding would probably be fine except it hits you at such a vulnerable age…

In the Top Class at primary school (10 yr olds) everybody knew if there was a girl who had Started. In secondary school by the end of the second year (13 yr olds) there were whispers about who hadn’t. (Much the same as the ones about who had Done It really, more of that later).

Tampons were a great idea for us active types, but they do have a habit of leaping about. I went to stay with Crystal in Longbenton for the night and one made a bid for freedom from my schoolbag. Her 6 year old brother was onto it immediately.
“What’s that?” he asked very nicely.
“It’s mine!” I growled snatching it back.
There’s nothing quite like waking up to the sound of a cat worrying one around your bedroom. Then they brought out ‘discreet’ tampon holders in bright pink or turquoise plastic, decorated with flowers. Try sneaking one of them into your pocket when you suddenly realise you need to leave the classroom.

At home we always had Supplies in the toilet, and my aunts did the same, so imagine my surprise when I went to stay in a house where there were none - and I was an irregular type. It was Marianne’s birthday party on a Saturday night and about 6 of us were staying over. It had taken me long enough to sort out my outfit (not spoilt for choice, just worried it was totally untrendy), never mind plan for all eventualities. So on Sunday morning I woke up in bleedin’ agony. Went to the bathroom – no supplies, no nothing. I asked Marianne, but she didn’t have any, nor did any of the others (embarrassment rating of telling All Your Friends: aaarrgh). Well Marianne’s mam, like mine, was a nurse, so I plucked up the courage and asked her.

That’s how I came to be walking a mile to (compulsory) church and back with nothing between me and terminal embarrassment but a tiny facecloth. Moral of the story: always keep spares around the house.

All I can say is it gets worse. When you’re a teacher of A Certain Age there can be times when a nightime pad and a superplus lilet will not cope with a 1 hr lesson. You stand up and just know that there is a bloodbath waiting to be dealt with. Though on a school trip to Barcelona I did manage to wash my knickers and use them to wash me in a restaurant toilet (no handy machine though). Fortified with almost a whole loo roll down my trousers, I got to a shop. Lucky the trousers were big and brown. Ugh.

Older Men

2006-02-19T18:25:00.000Z

It wasn’t a deliberate strategy but looking back, we spent time in bars practising our technique. One night in the Collingwood, Tina was demonstrating how to eat crisps lasciviously. This went on for some time, with the rest of us giving her useful pointers (like don’t wipe the crumbs from round your mouth. Lick them). We certainly caught some interested glances from Older Men. Then one of them sidled up with a conspiratorial wink and passed me a slip of paper. There was a message:
“I am a famous Hollywood film producer. Meet me under the Tyne bridge at midnight. Tell no-one”. I winked right back at him and tucked it into my imagined cleavage. I had that note pinned to my bedroom wall for months.

One night at the University theatre we were reduced to helpless hysteria by Ellen who had attracted an Older Man to our table. The conversation was pretty trivial and when she went to the ladies he moved away, but beckoned her over to sit with him. She certainly charmed him as we tittered in our corner. Phone numbers were exchanged (at least one genuine) and she returned to us glowing. We were agog to know what he’d said:
“You’re so much more mature than your friends”

Autograph Hunters 2 - the Who

2006-02-16T15:42:00.000Z

Around a month after Spencer Davis, the Who were playing. Now that we had friends at the ‘Gogo in Newcastle (Paul and Judy, I think) we decided to ask them to get us the their autographs for us. Naturally we planned our visit for the afternoon of the show.

The Club a’Gogo was the top floor of a building on Percy Street which was also the frontage of Handysides Arcade. The second floor was used by Newcastle transport in the daytime, so as we skipped lightly up the stairs (one of us was to become Games Captain later), we met a lot of bus drivers and conductors who clearly appreciated our attempts at customising the school uniform for maximum modness (basically ties off, unbuttoning shirts to near bra-flash point and turning over the skirt at the top without quite showing your Calvados stocking tops – though that wasn’t the case from behind as we climbed the stairs…).

Calvados stockings? Whatever happened to them? Remember standing waiting for buses at Marlborough Crescent in those pleated skirts on windy days, trying not to show me stocking tops ... still make the mistake of wearing pleated skirts on such days ... sight not so appealing now tho! Jade

The ‘Gogo was also Forbidden. I’d been allowed to see the Beatles (big treat second performance 8pm), but the Police Officer who was my dad Knew About The ‘Gogo. At the time we were 12 and some girls in our class did go there unlikely as it seems. In those days a lot of impenetrable make-up was worn – big black rimmed eyes and pale lips. We walked in boldly. They were trying out the lights and there was a big poster sized copy of a Who cartoon from that week’s NME, but there was no soundcheck. (Note of realism: was it likely? No).

There was a wee cubby hole to the left as you went into the club with "Eric Burden slept here" written on the wall. Blimey - it was a dive! Those stairs were a scary fire risk (young as I was I clocked that!). It did burn down didn't it cuz? Jade

The next day was a bit of an odd school day: Founder’s day. Our school and the corresponding Boys’ school would all go to Newcastle Cathedral for a service in celebration of the school’s foundation in 1705. Then at around noon we’d all be released to go home. So we came out, adjusting the uniform and trekked up from the cathedral, debating whether to go to the ‘gogo then or sit around the station looking winsome and hoping to attract admiring glances from Lads (preferably with red socks, but that’s another story). Outside the Station Hotel, there was a taxi with the doors and bootlid open and two massive gladstone bags blocking the pavement. Not that unusual except that one of the bags had a shotgun sticking out of it. A shortish guy came out of the hotel and stood there - just being Roger Daltrey. (Note of realism: was it likely? No, but it happened, honest).

And that is how we came to meet the Who (well, not Mr Moon). More legendary timing from the Girls. We had learned it’s quite a good plan to find out where they’re staying.

Peace and Love, Gosforth

2006-02-13T10:29:00.000Z

We were women of the world. We knew what was going on in San Francisco. We read Derek Taylor in Disc and Music Echo. Naturally we wanted to get into that Peace and Love thing with the flowers in your hair and the bells. I found a bell on a cord in a shop in Gosforth high street and we were off. Me and my cousin, arms full of flowers, handing them out to bemused passers by. Until some cow came over and pulled the bell off me neck (probably needed it to rejoin her herd in the tyrol)

I suppose, Gosforth wasn’t ready for the hippy revolution quite yet.

Autograph Hunters - Spencer Davis Group

2006-02-13T10:27:00.000Z

We didn’t set out to make autograph collections. I think it was an excuse to get near to our musical heroes without being mistaken for groupies (no fear of that really at 11 yrs old – this was pre Gary Glitter).

Jade here. Actually, I never did collect autographs but cuz has some great ones. She gave Frank Zappa a newspaper (only paper available) and asked for a sign of The Times. Don't think he got it ......

It all started when the Spencer Davis Group were playing at the Club A’ Gogo in Newcastle. ‘Keep on Running’ had just hit number one and Stevie Winwood was The Man (only 17, not that much older than us). A girl in the sixth form was rumoured to have gone for a drink with him when they played the Majestic a couple of months earlier. We had a plan. We’d go to the Gogo in the afternoon and catch them at their sound check (as women of the world we read NME and knew what went on). The day before the gig we bundled onto the yellow trolley bus in Fenham and headed to town for a recce. As we reached our stop at Eldon Square, Linda suddenly yelled out. She’d seen Stevie Winwood walking along the street. ( I didn’t believe her, it was a day too early). Scattering innocent bystanders we barged out and were in pursuit.

‘scuse me’ Linda was pretty bold ‘are you Stevie Winwood outta the Spencer Davis Group’. I think he realised it was a fair cop. We had the numbers. The next day at the Gogo we met the rest of the band and some nice people who worked there.
That’s how we became autograph hunters. Not groupies

Cuz - I wasn't with you and Linda (but remember you are Molesworth II to my Moleswoth I, hem hem OK, older then!) but I remember walking up the stairs at the 'gogo behind Stevie and he had that dead ginger cat coat on and orange panstick stuff on his face. A while later you heard him on (pirate?) radio (or was it Luxembourg?) talking about young girls in Newcastle and how they weren't interested in the music. I was outraged! I had listened to The Yardbirds and John Mayall on Saturday Club when I was 11 after all!!! However, I remain a fan to this day Stevie, so you were forgiven! Jade

Take the Highway

2006-02-13T10:25:00.000Z

Ossie, a friend of my dad’s taught me to drive. His day job was teaching police drivers so it was pretty interesting. I still have his voice in my head as I bowl along.
‘mind that daft dog’
‘look for the legs’ (under parked cars)
‘whose ball’s that?’ (look out for following child)
‘accelerate out of danger’
‘let the madman pass then you can see where he is’
‘why are the brakelights going on ahead?’
‘I’ll be in the men’s ward at the RVI and I’ll shout over to you on the women’s ward - It’s OK liz, you had right of way’

The best bits though were when he sang the theme from Rawhide at the top of his voice to make sure I could handle distractions. He also took me driving fast because he reckoned there wasn’t much point in learning at 30 mph then passing your test and making straight for the motorway.

I passed my test first time and mam sent me to buy pies. I was driving my dad’s Rover 2000 (lovely big car) and as I left the pie shop realised I didn’t know how to get it in reverse. So I drove along and took the first right turn, then right again. Now if it hadn’t been a cul de sac I could then have got back to the main road with just one more right. So there I was trying to get into reverse gear and edging ever closer to a brick wall. Fortunately one of my audience (I had attracted quite a crowd) took pity on me and showed me how to lift the collar thing then select reverse. I’m sure it was a very sensible safety precaution to stop people from going backwards inadvertently.

That evening I took Tina out on manoeuvres in my mam’s NSU Prinz. The engine was in the back so we kept a sack of spuds in the front to help the steering. Off we went past the Wheatsheaf and on towards New York. As it got dark I would have put the lights on if I knew how. In the end I had to park under a street lamp while Tina got the manual out and read the instructions.

Those cars certainly saw a lot of the North East. Tina and I would drop my parents off at the Golf Club on a Saturday night then pick them up later - 3 hrs with wheels. The first time, I took the wrong turning off a roundabout and ended up Northbound on the A1. We did about 5 miles before we could get turned round. At least we were mobile.

Misheard Lyrics

2006-02-11T11:41:00.000Z

I am the Queen of the Misheard Lyric.

The first one I remember was singing 'buffalo foals stand by the shore' instead of 'baffled, our foes stand by the shore' in Speed Bonny Boat.

There's a new trailer on BBC tv which helpfully prints the lyrics to Wonderful World. So Im know know it isn't 'The brightness of day, the dark say goodnight' after all.

The address of this blog is misheard from Drive in Saturday. It should, of course, be 'it's a crash course for the ravers' but I thought my mishearing more appropriate. There is no crash course.

Faded Elegance

2006-02-10T20:31:00.000Z

Aspiring to look like Proper Hippies, we knew that we had to get some velvet and floaty stuff with psychedelic type patterns to wear. There were some pretty cool shops in the Toon, but they were expensive. Well, there was Elle where they would make you a velvet coat for £25. Some rich mates had them.

We also had to do something about the School Uniform. Young Men from Dabs, St Custards and the Argees tended to favour RAF greatcoats to offset the album under their arms as they strolled between bus stops. At least we just had to find a suitable navy or black alternative – girls at Grand Central and SSSh had to wear brown or green. Duffel coats had been banned, probably because we were making such a good stab at looking like wee tramps in them. I found the shoe solution though: round toed clark’s sandals with tee bar and a flower design for summer and clunky lace-up crepe soled, round toed shoes for winter. As listed on the lower school uniform list – ha!

My mam had a job where she had to wear certain colours, and she got a clothing allowance of £2 a month. (2 quid, the cost of an album). So me and my brother managed to get her to agree to the same deal for us. Basically the plan was to buy albums. Mam’s sister, Auntie Nelly, worked as a cleaner at the university and she heard there were some really good jumble sales going on, especially in Gosforth and Jesmond. She bought me some proper ski pants with straps under the feet and lots of useful fabric for making proggy mats. (she made me a mat for my room when I went to uni too).

The late 60s must have been the time when many of the mature ladies of Newcastle decided that the finery they’d worn before the war may never come back into fashion and it was time to embrace the polyester revolution. We certainly found some amazing clothes and accessories. I still have some of them.

There were some tricks to learn of course. We learned to spot silk by feel under piles of tat, know our cashmere from our mohair and wool from acrylic. There’s a knack to using your elbows so it doesn’t look as if you’re barging people out of the way. When you see something nice, cover it up quickly and work it out from under the pile before anyone notices. Ask for the price and look pathetic. If it’s expensive, collect a few things together and ask for a bulk deal, or hide it and ask again at the end when they’re keen to clear everything before the rag men come in. Parents don’t like the idea of infestation. Wash everything as soon as you get it home. If it isn’t washable it probably is more trouble that it’s worth, but if you really must keep it, get a hot iron and press all the seams hard (pop pop). One of the aunties really didn’t like jumble. She’d throw good stuff onto a garden fire and shout about lice. We just hid stuff and the cousin got dressed away from home – simple. Quite a lot of the clothes were shared between us anyway.

Some favourites:
Utility crepe frocks in real 40’s sexy styles.
A black and rainbow print crepe de chine tea dress with flared hem and low neck
A devore velvet + satin number in black with a brown background and silver lurex threads.
Victorian Nightdresses (laying –out shrouds the aunties said. It was the custom to have a really nice one ready for your demise)
A high waisted coat with blue velvet skirt and wine red crushed velvet bodice.
Two silk kimonos. One in black with a multicoloured splodgy print and the other pink satin with a red dragon embroidered down the back.
An embroidered cream silk shirt
A Navy (school!) barrathea full skirted coat with huge shawl collar and Pinched waist
A wide brimmed green nun-style hat.
A collection of silk scarves I still have and wear regularly
Flowers made from felt and feathers
Hand knitted fairisle jumpers
Beads in all shapes and sizes.

We also bought anything embroidered, like bedspreads to use as shawls or make skirts. More often we just draped them around our rooms to absorb the joss stick smoke.

Sometimes we did a bit of sewing. We had to to make things fit, change the length or patch them up. Tina and I made coats from curtain fabric (Farnon’s Sale). Hers was beautiful, rust coloured brocade. Later I made another from a pair of printed chenille curtains. I carried a bag made of 2 prayer mats and some tape for years.

It wasn’t just us either. We met a guy who’d moved into a new flat.
“The landlord said like it’s all yours, so I made these trousers out of the curtains, man” (picture Neil in The Young Ones)

I once came home late in my Zig-zag wanderer coat, which was a kind of plasticine green barathea with the buttons on the points of a zigzag down the front. My father opened the door and said “you look a right clip”. No, I don’t know either, but it was even more fetching from behind where I’d strung felt flowers on a cord tied between the belt loops to take in some of its vast bulk. The epitome of cool I'd've said.

The legacy of all this is I still have a hankering for decent fabric. When I see it in a sale I buy it, along with lots of patterns. I now have a fabric Mountain, starting with some viyella bought in Bury market in 1975, Oh and the sari lengths from a Newcastle jumble sale around 1968. The road to hell is paved with good intentions.
Maybe we should have a moral on every blog.

Finding our Way

2006-02-09T10:14:00.000Z

Living in the top right hand corner of England seemed a bit of a handicap when most of our musical heroes were based in Los Angeles or That London. So what did we do? We concentrated on being the epitomes of cool - in between going to school and living with relatively normal families.
There were some simple rules that we Just Knew including:
never walk down a street in your school uniform without a cool LP (oops, I meant album) prominently displayed under your arm;
See every visiting band at the City Hall using Northern Arts vouchers (great scheme);
dress the part - modify that uniform; and
listen to John Peel - keep up.
I'm sure my co-bloggers will add more.