"your mum wasn't even born then"

Okay, so retracing her (surprisingly filled with debauchery) youthful days on Carnaby Street, a street filled (historically at least) with some pretty curious citizenry and behaviours. I had to (after all these years) change - if possible/necessary the world I envisioned inhabited by the recipient of my (twice annually) bouquet of roses - somehow, some-how

Oh my Lord, imagining (the mind trembles) her clad in 'leather and lace' with boots to the knees and a hemline not even close!

A hair-style that resembled McCartney's, with a "fag" sticking out of a pencil thin and twice as long holder, held betwit two pale white fingers, slowly approaching a parting pair of lips painted a deep shade of blood-red. 

Uh, well no, definitely not the buttoned-up, refined epitome of English-ness (don't know if that's actually a word or reality) She is better known - and not just by my dopey brown eyes - as today

A woman who has only once (and you saw the results people) "let her hair down" and donned a pair of jeans and the Stetson, nope I just can't see THAT lady hanging out on THE "Carnaby Street" in her 'younger days', nah I just can not imagine it

And in these boots???

Carnaby Street today (well earlier today after spending time at the Shakespeare's Head) was definitely not as I had imagined it back in the day (1967) not at all, No Hendrix, No Richards, No Jagger, No Bowie or Twiggy or anybody I could envision and definitely no "fashionable boutique" down the block.

"Time marches on"