The disasters are not only clothing but decoration and design also. Lurid tartan and paisley underwear for men, hot pants combined with more than half open matching shirts, stylish??
I feel sure I probably have one or two photographs that could fit quite easily into this book one springs to mind with shoulder length hair and bell bottom trousers The book is mostly colored pictures and a very short paragraph "captioning" these pics, and very funnily, I might add. Join the discussion. By entering your information you agree to us retaining your details to send you information on our services.
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I understand I can read further about how my details are used on this website by visiting this websites privacy page. X Sign up for our newsletter Please enter your email address below; Sign up for our newsletter. We might not have been able to pronounce his name — within these walls he was Dennis Roussof — but Forever and Ever was still played every summer, promising a life of Aegean beaches, kebabs and sun, far away from the grim reality of clocking in and rent books.
Every Saturday we would have pie and beans for lunch and steak and chips for dinner. After a frenzy of frying worthy of a chip shop, Mum would proudly ask if we wanted gravy and then she would pour the fat from the frying pan over the incarcerated meat. This column was prompted by memories of the last protracted time I can remember being stuck at home without being ill — and that was the s, when strikes, an energy crisis and political unrest led to a three-day week and regular power cuts.
Reliving those years in culinary terms, there was really only one cookery book I could turn to for inspiration. This was a time when grilled grapefruit sprinkled with brown sugar was a thing, when you shared a phone line with your neighbour and when affectations became the norm. Council houses like ours, just a few years on from hiding behind the sofa when the insurance man attempted to collect his weekly payments, would suddenly have hostess trolleys, coffee percolators, food warmers and steak knives — a sort of aspirational bow to the upper classes and the idea that a better life was just a Boots orange sun lamp away.
By the time of the second printing nine years later it must have been gratifying to see so many of the dishes in the book become respected staples on many restaurant menus. The girls dressed sensationally and very sexily - you don't see the short skirts now that you did then, that quick flash of the knickers that used to drive us crazy. What was going on in English fashions and music became the seeds of glam rock.
Bell-bottom jeans might have been American but flares were an English creation. Everyone took much more care over their appearance. There was no jumping on stage in jeans and trainers. The majority of people tried hard to be hip: you had to dress the part. Flares are useless with flat shoes so you had to have platforms.
In the Seventies I was 6ft 1in; now I'm back to 5ft 10in. It was a very effeminate era, a lot more theatrical than it is today. I looked bloody marvellous with curls. It was an innocent time, less cynical than today. Drugs never came into my clubs. We were all drinking big time but I didn't know what cocaine was.
It was a fantastic time for sex, too, a lot better than the Sixties. It was sandwiched between the introduction of the Pill and our discovery of Aids and that meant no condoms.
People were starting to get a lot lighter in their attitudes to sex, as they moved away from the naivety of the Sixties. I spent the first part of the decade disc-jockeying at my clubs in Leeds, then in , I moved and opened the Millionaire's Club in Manchester.
Nobody wanted any depth from their music - songs like "Staying Alive" and "Freak Out" were pure upbeat, fun floor fillers. We would wait with baited breath for the next Bee Gees single because it would pack out the club.
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