I woke up in 1974 to find myself wearing platform boots, and yes, I am a man. That was 1974 for you. They were silver and made me taller by an inch. Funny thing was that everyone else in the clubs wore them too so I didn’t stand out. That and my shoulder length straight hair. Proper glam I was.
She was in the band I followed. I saw them at half a dozen gigs and had all their albums (then bought the cd’s, then the mp3’s.). Yes, I helped them make their fortunes. Now I don’t know where she is, probably some backing singer somewhere or living on her country estate making cheese. Not that I’m bitter at all, she was gorgeous and I adored her.
She wore crazy clothes. My Mum and Dad disapproved of course. They didn’t like any of my music or the bands, or the clothes they wore. They told me I looked silly in my tight silver trousers. I didn’t care. I loved the electric music, the solid wall of sound.
I went into London one Saturday and was shopping in Carnaby Street when she walked the other way, surrounded by her entourage. I couldn’t believe it. I turned and stared and luckily had the quickness of thought to ask for an autograph. I still keep that framed on my wall today. I remember that day as if it was yesterday. There she was looking as extreme as ever, frizzy blond hair. She looked really keen in her mohair suit and electric boots. I was amazed, I didn’t actually think she owned such clothes – I had only read it in a magazine.