Apropos of nothing I thought I’d add to my previous post because in writing it I realised that that summer break also represented my transition from dedicated Mod to ‘Gordon Bennett! What’s this that’s turned up now?’ It also represented my very first Pink Floyd gig which was followed by twenty-odd Pink Floyd gigs culminating in their final appearance at Earl’s Court. So! Here we have a budding young Mod with an artistic bent on a break at Great Yarmouth in the summer of ’68. A popular spot at the time, especially with the ladies, because it was far safer than Brighton, that’s for sure! Anyhow. There we were. Sun, sea, sand and s….(bet you thought I was going to say sex there, didn’t you?) Well I was but modesty (not to mention cowardice) forbids. One day we decided to visit the outdoor roller-skating rink which was very popular at the time. Admittedly, mainly amongst us blokes because there was always the chance of some young lady taking a spill and revealing her underwear, skirts being of the “Is that a pelmet she’s wearing” fashion then! Now, setting the scene, here was I, backcombed hair ala Steve Marriott, flares, Italian jacket in velvet (green, of a shade commonly known as seasick!) tootling around on wheels, trying to look debonair and grooving to the music being a great Small Faces and Who fan, of course, when I became aware that the DJ (Yep! A real honest-to-goodness DJ) was playing something most peculiar. A weird little ditty about ‘little purple fishes’ and stuff. What’s more, this Mod had to admit he quite liked it! A simple query revealed it to be Tales of Brave Ulysses by an outfit called Cream, so later that day saw me combing the local record shops, to emerge with a copy of Disraeli Gears (a title which appealed to the Surrealist in me). But wait! There’s more! On the way out of the shop I spotting an A3 sized flyer advertising a gig by The Pink Floyd that very night, so…..
Aftermath:
The next few weeks saw some interesting changes in this young chap’s outlook. The flares and velvet jacket disappeared in favour of a black Victorian frock coat, the genuine article which I found whilst crawling about beneath the stage of a school hall we used to rehearse and generally loon about in. I had it cleaned and was delighted to find it fitted me near perfectly! Oh heaven! It even had a real silk lining (dark blue) Drool! In came slim black trousers to match plus a pair of black riding boots bought one morning on the Portobello Road. Note to the unwary: The last items were something of a mistake, I must confess. If you’ve ever tried walking any distance in riding boots (and manage to maintain your cool) you will know that it’s bloody impossible, not to mention painful! Back to the black Spanish lace-up Beatle boots. Ah! Blessed relief.
Also about this time I bought my second guitar (and first bass) in the sweet shape of a Hofner Violin Bass. £58 brand new and purchased based solely on the fact that McCartney played one. (Just for comparison £58 was quite a lot in those days and cost me most of my allowance not to mention the resulting poverty until next months dosh turned up, but if I wanted one now I would have to sell my granddaughters!) This was caused by the guys in the band deciding that three six-string guitars in one band was a bit overkill and I lost. As in, Paul and Stuart were both bigger than me and I have an aversion to pain! Much hilarity resulted when I turned up at RCA with it for the first time, mainly from the classical music lot, like, “Where’s yer bow then?” To “Blimey, you must have long arms to reach the top frets when you’ve got that stuck under your chin!” But that is a story for another time.
