Big Flares

A long, long time ago I was a kind of hippy but just a few years too late.

I had the Afghan coat, the beads, the heavy whiff of petuly oil, the all-important cowboy boots and, of course, FLARES!

I frequented "Head Shops" in Edinburgh like "Sixty Street High" (and a slightly dodgier one behind the museum - the "Headquarters???") for the purchase of joss sticks and the odd cheese-cloth "Kurta."

Inevitably, when it rained the enormous effort of dragging one massive, wet, flared leg past the other was joined by a loud "swooshing" noise as faded denim slopped against faded (and usually smelly) denim.

However, within a few weeks Punk arrived and the flares? Well, they went under the Singer sewing maching and hey presto! Drainpipes!!

(I had enough left over for a nice denim waistcoat - if they hadn't already been made a fashion disaster by Eric Clapton..)