Clubs and Pubs and Eyebrows

hmmm,

couldn’t be part of a harem

couldn’t be part of a gang

couldn’t lie down where other folks lie

couldn’t, for fear I’d do harm

couldn’t be part of a co-op

couldn’t be part of the tests

couldn’t imagine a club I could join

where I would be at my best

have always been part of a union

as long as they aren’t too dense

don’t fight both corners, betray or deny

cause common, with some common sense

couldn’t contribute to cliques where

niche means crawling or worse

couldn’t just fib to fit in there

expressive face too frank of a curse

couldn’t be bothered kow-towing

couldn’t reveal all I know

alphas or kappas, whatevers

couldn’t just put on a show

tho’, have been tempted by acting

oh, woe, with a sigh and a swoon

melodramatic, quite catching

alas, yorick, he passed on too soon

briefly joined brownies and girl guides

but uniforms, rules and the likes

gave me the creeps and right eyebrow

gave away that I thought it all shite

always got on with most folk

but never, well, rarely, in clubs

much preferred ordinary wisdom

found on most benches in pubs

carry folk forward I love best

connections all made through brief life

but give me a one onto one folks

I’ll follow like obedient wife

 

I have no idea why my husband is laughing so hard.

 

 

May Music, Day 24 – Wild Abandon

The seventies were notable for a few trends in music and style that now leave me shaking my head in wonder at what we, as teenagers, must have looked like to the adults of the time.

Twindaddy’s asking for his 24th question which song we remember dancing to with our best friend.

Going to the dancing was a very mixed experience. Some places favoured punk rock and the patrons embraced that with weird and wild piercings and multi-coloured hairdo’s of high jagged proportions.

That wasn’t me.

A few venues catered more to glam rock. ‘Poseurs’ strutted their stuff with every imaginable make-up and clothes combo, hair sprayed into full flamboyancy or left to hang moodily over one eye. Guys too.

Not my thing.

If you wanted soul music you could have that in abundance too at dedicated clubs.

I never did.

Glitz and disco glamour pervaded many places and spangly jumpsuits weaved their work on the dance floor.

Never owned one.

In and around the streets of Glasgow – as so many other places – a veritable Hallowe’en parade of styles could be found wending their ways to rock, pop, mod, punk, glam fests, all sporting the look that best suited their musical tastes.

I just liked dancing. As did my best friend. Weekends were for dancing and we tried out various places before opting for ones that catered to eclectic musical tastes.

With this in mind we could be found dancing to heavy rock, pop, punk or whatever. So long as it had a good bass or drum beat we were on the floor.

As for our style. We favoured a more arty, hippy look – long flowing skirts or dresses to go with the long flowing hair. I cringe now at the scarves or love beads wound around our necks and the scent of patchouli oil still lingers in my olfactory memories.

Our dancing then quite often reflected that look and the song I can see us both letting go to is ‘Wuthering Heights’ by Kate Bush. All wild abandon. When questioned what we were on, our honest answer was Coke – as in Cola. We just didn’t seem to need any stimulants other than music and life.

My passport photo from that time reflected that look and I had to live with it for 10 years – long after I’d abandoned being a pretend hippy. Thank God, though, I hadn’t been a punk.