Excuse me while I slip into something more comfortable....

Imagine this scenario.  Hunky guy is invited back to gorgeous woman's flat after hot date.

Gorgeous Woman: Help yourself to a drink, and do excuse me while I slip into something more comfortable...

Hunky Guy: But of course!  Opens brandy bottle, smiling, thoughts of black silk and lace running through his mind.

Two minutes later, enter stage left: 
Gorgeous Woman: That's better!  Flops onto sofa.  You can pour me one of those, t0o.

Hunky Guy's mouth drops open.  Gorgeous woman wears not the black lingerie of his fantasies, but a faded AC/DC 1998 tour t-shirt with toothpaste stains down the front, and a pair of man's pyjama trousers with a hole in the knee.

~~~ 

I'm talking about Leezurewear. 

Yes, yes, I know it's spelt leisurewear.  It's just how my sister and I (and, thus, many of our friends) spell it, because we pronounce it in the American way, ie 'lee-surewear' rather than 'leh-surewear'.  Works best if you say it with an American accent, too (at least until you're comfortable with it....).  It's probably not even a real word; should it be two words?  I'll leave my proofreading sister to decide, and no doubt tell me in the comments!

I have not been guilty of the ruining a hot date scenario, but must say that one of the joys of working from home, or just not going out to work, period, is being able to wear leezurewear more often.  In fact, most of the time. 

Socially acceptable leezurewear

I have a selection of leezure trousers.  At the moment I am wearing my rather (un)fetching miscellaneous animal print ones that are too big in the arse and too long.  Until I actually got properly dressed today (at around lunch time) I was wearing them with a pink and white striped vest that I'd worn in bed the night before.  I also own some striking half-mast black velvet trews (£3.99 from Store 21 in Jarrow), and another pair of two-summers-ago blue and white flowery ones, with holes in.  These items will not necessarily be worn with anything matches them.  Because they are leezurewear, and this you wear only for comfort, not for style.  Comfort is all.

Leezurewear: see that casual fit, the ease with which the wearer stands, hand placed comfortably in pocket?

When I worked in an office, the first thing I did when I got home was to get into my old faithfuls, waiting for me upstairs.  The office in which I worked was not one of those that required me to wear anything too smart, but I still had to look respectable.  I went to work dressed in flattering trousers and some sort of smart top, a conscious choice based on aesthetics, unlike the clothes I put on when I got home, which would be ill-fitting, ill matched, and with coffee stains down the front within an hour or so of putting them on (whether I'd drunk coffee or not, it seemed).  

There are different grades of leezurewear.  My sister and I have a name for the one in between at-home-only disgusting garments, and work clothes:  this is socially acceptable leezurewear.  It might be smart leggings and a huge but presentable t-shirt.  Or a natty hat, as worn by actor Josh Holloway, below.  In SAL, you can go shopping, receive visitors, even go to the pub if there is not likely to be anyone in there who you want to impress.   

Actor Josh Holloway models socially acceptable leezurewear

True leezurewear, though, is so unfetching that you can only wear it at home and in the company of friends.  The garments that have become as much part of you as your skin, that you can only wear in front of very close friends, and definitely not in front of someone you might want to have sex with in the future, unless they already love you very much (and even then it might be best not to).  

I'm talking the truly appalling trousers with the holes in the crotch, the once bright yellow band t-shirt that you found you know not where, sporting curious stains that will never quite come out.  
 
My best ever leezure item was a velour jumper bought from a charity shop in Cromer for £1.99.  On a cost-per-wear basis, I probably got 3287 wears per penny out of my black velour jumper.  I had it for around 8 years.  By the time Julia told me I really ought to throw it away (I needed telling), it was so worn out you could actually see through the front of it.

It was a sad day indeed.  Julia used to have a garment we called her David Lee Roth trousers (I can't remember why); they lived with her for about 20 years.  I think at one time they had patches on the back and crotch, and the knees were more hole than trouser.  I don't think she ever got over losing them; not even the size 18-20 jogging bottoms she bought from Cromer Indoor Market (she is a size 10-12) could replace them.

Years ago, on MySpace, I had a photo album on my profile entitled 'My friends in their leezurewear'.  My online and real life chums used to send me pictures of themselves in their favourite items, fully annotated to point out particularly alluring features like baggy knees and embarrassing holes.  It was a good album!  I wish I still had all the pictures; I could have shown you the black velour jumper in all its grisly glory.  

What are your most beloved (and possibly disgusting) items?  The best leezurewear is often appropriated rather than bought.  Back in the early 1990s Julia had a fab t-shirt that an ex-boyfriend of her flatmate had left behind.  It was one of those that was good quality originally, probably why it was such a pleasure to wear.  I then nicked it off her and wore it for many years; I loved it.  It disappeared along with another boyfriend.  I wonder if it's been passed on to anyone else?  There was nothing particularly noticeable about it, it was just great leezurewear.

Me wearing the t-shirt owned by many, in 1996, sporting it in the socially acceptable way, ie, tucked in to still comfortable denim shorts.  It was subsequently stolen by the soon to become ex who took this picture.  Perhaps he only wanted me for the t-shirt in the first place.

.... and now we come to the downside of wearing comfortable clothes because you are at home all the time.  After a while, it becomes really hard to wear anything else.  I do put reasonable clothes on, and make-up and earrings, just to nip to the shops, because if I didn't I would end up looking like a bag lady all the time instead of just 80% of it.  But even then, my respectable clothes are things with stretchy waistbands, no heels, nothing that might be any effort to wear.  This is partly because being at home all the time, sitting down at a laptop, means that wearing shorts like the ones in the picture above is now but a faded, distant memory.  Yes, another downside: when you don't have to make yourself look good for work every day you don't notice when your clothes are getting, shall we say, a little more snug, until you have to actually go somewhere looking proper smart.  That's when you look in the mirror and gasp "where the hell did all that come from???" 

Never mind, though.  You only have to endure looking smart for a few hours, with that held in stomach, being careful not to slosh red wine down your top, etc, and then you can come home, tear all those once-every-six-months clothes off and .... get back into your leezurewear...

...just like actor Josh Holloway... now there's a man who looks like he knows how to stay comfortable....!!

 

 

 

It wasn't like that in my day...

I felt compelled to write this post after reading a very good and amusing short story by writer E.L. Lindley -  READ IT HERE, ON HER BLOG - about a divorcee going 'out on the town' for the first time in years.  We had a bit of a conversation about how pubs have changed since we frequented them every Friday and Saturday night, and E.L. said this:  "City centre pubs are just awful, every time I go into one I feel as though I've inadvertantly stumbled into a hen party from hell" - which I thought kinda summed it up!

I live in the north east, (happily) a fair few miles away from the notorious Bigg Market in Newcastle, host to stag and hen parties, and in which one would feel out of place if fully dressed and not completely rat-arsed.

Ladettes out on the razz in the Bigg Market, appropriately dressed for the weather

I have never visited this area, and never intend to.  Okay, that's a bit of an extreme example, but, generally, isn't it a shame that you can't just go out in a town centre for a normal drink with your pals, without the boom boom boom of horrible music, bouncers on the doors, advertisements for ghastly cocktails, etc?  

When I was in my teens in the 1970s, my friends and I used to go from pub to pub with ne'er a care, dressed in proper clothes, rather than hooker gear.  We would buy normal drinks and put money in juke boxes that played music you could hear, but also talk over.  I also used to walk home late at night without my parents worrying; that's slightly off topic, though related.  Yes, yes, I know times change, but isn't it a shame that the ordinary town centre pub scarcely exists these days?  They're all turned into horrible, garish bars now, music blaring.  Ah, how I remember going to the Saddlers Arms in Bridge Street, Northampton, wearing jeans etc, drinking half pints of Directors and putting The Doors on the juke box - and I never saw a fight in there.  I had a shop down that road in the 1980s. When we opened in 1983 it was still an ordinary, quiet street.  By 1985 several of the establishments, including the Saddlers, had been turned into horrible extreme drinking hell holes, and that was when our window started getting smashed on a regular basis. The street used to have antique shops, a second hand record shop, a lovely independent book store, but they're all long gone; my old shop is now one of many takeaway food pit stops for the roaring drunk and ravenous.  These places ruin town centres.  

I'm happy to say that my most frequented pub in Northampton, The King Billy, has remained a rock music type pub throughout - the brewery did make an attempt to change it into a lager lout pub in the 1990s, calling it The Fitchet and Firkin, or something equally daft, but resistance was strong, and it soon changed back.

I know there are a few pubs that haven't been changed too much (The Wig & Pen, The Mailcoach, though I preferred the Wig when it was the Black Lion!), but mostly the rest of the town centre is pretty much a no-go area if you just want to go out for a quiet drink.  I wonder if the only places 'real' pubs still exist within town centres are at the seaside; when I lived in Cromer, in Norfolk, during the last decade, the five or six pubs in the town all retained that 'local' feel, as did others in Norfolk towns such as Sheringham and Holt.

The Kings Head, Cromer - my favourite pub in the town.  The second living room of many.  Wonderful food, beer garden - oh, sorry, Gail, I went into advertisement writing mode for a moment, there!

The argument might be given that the old pubs are changed into these grisly bars because that's what people want, but I wonder if this is so. After I left Cromer, Buffers Bar near the station was changed into one of those boom-boom-boom music, open until late, puke-up-your-thirteen-cocktails-outside type of establishments.  It caused havoc in that area of the town, and only lasted a couple of years.

As I noted in a comment below, (I imagine most) big cities remain okay, because they are large enough to confine it to one area, like the Bigg Market in The Toon, and Prince of Wales Road in Norwich.  

I suppose I just wish there was less of this

and more of this!

Isn't this excellent?  Don't know when this pic of the Saddlers in Bridge Street, Northampton was taken.

Very old shot of The Malt Shovel - out of the town centre, spruced up in a nice way, and still excellent.  I went there last year, and it was great. Average age of about 50, too!

Or were these chaps just the lager louts of the 1950s?  

I don't think so, somehow; maybe it's more to do with the drinking culture than anything else.  But that, of course, is a whole other blog post.

It's all over....

..... yes, the woman I once was has checked out, left the building and may never be seen again.  


Today I did it.  I tried not to, and my hand hovered over them for many moments before I took them off the rack and put them into my trolley.  But I did it.  I succumbed.

I bought some BIG KNICKERS.

Alas, the days of the lacy mini brief, the high leg, and the 'no VPL' thongs are now history, because I have become the woman who looks at the selection of underwear in the shop, and chooses the full brief.

.....and most of us don't look anything like this airbrushed picture of a model in them, do we?

I've laughed through the fact that I haven't bought high heeled shoes for eight years, that my daily footwear of choice is hugh white furry boot slippers, and that I live in baggy patterned trousers and t-shirts, like a refugee from the Glastonbury of 20 years ago.  Yet still I was hanging on to the last smidgens of making an effort.

Until the BIG KNICKERS.

(I have a feeling they're going to be one of the best finds of my life, like the furry boot slippers.  Ssh!  It's just between you and me, okay?)

You are what you.... wear!

This morning I was going out shopping, dressed in summery patterned trousers, suede ankle boots, and an oversized, hooded (and rather scruffy) sweatshirt belonging to my husband.  He said to me, "You look as though you're on the way home from Glastonbury".  It occurred to me that perhaps, mentally, I am always on the way home from Glastonbury - the Glastonbury of 20 years ago, anyway (older person getting sniffy about how such events aren't what they used to be!).  

On the way home from Glastonbury, 1993!

Anyway, I was thinking, on the way to Morrissons, not only about how we dress to express our personalities in a conscious way, but also how we tend towards different styles, as a subconscious thing.  A few years back I worked for a woman who was younger than me but much more 'straight' (please note: I am not talking about sexual orientation here!! - I mean that her idea of a fun night out was probably a Celine Dion concert) and I remember her asking me if I would ever get my hair cut.  

"Why don't you have it cut into a nice bob?" asked she, to which I replied, "Because I'm not a 'nice bob' sort of person."  

Not a 'nice bob' sort of person ~ 1990

Which kinda summed it up, really.  I always found office clothes difficult, which is because I am not one of nature's admin workers.  Couldn't do that neat skirt, tights and shoes bit.  It was easiest when I was just given a uniform, like for the Nationwide Building Society - I love jobs with uniforms, you don't have to think about what to wear each morning!  I used to find that my work clothes were too 'square' (lovely old-fashioned phrase!) for my normal wear.  I felt almost restricted by them, in the same way as I did the daft office rules.  I think the preferences of your younger days stay with you, too.  I wouldn't wear it these days because I think it would make me look like Bet Lynch, but I always find myself edging towards the leopard print - I try to keep it just for things like make-up bags now, though!  Though my husband is not in the first flush of youth by any means, I am instructed, when buying clothes for him, to ask myself this question before I make a purchase: Would Liam Gallagher wear it?  If the answer is "you gotta be kidding", I must leave it in the shop.

At the height of my rock chickery, 1990

When I was at the height of my rock chickery I always wore short skirts, suede boots, denim, leopard print, huge belts, etc; but I didn't think I frequently go to The Town & Country Club to see Thunder, thus I must dress like a rock groupie - I just did.  I don't anymore; I've moved gradually into the slightly boho-chic look, though not always with a great deal of chic, it has to be said. It wasn't a conscious decision but, of late, my eye tends to be caught by patterned trousers, floaty tops, odd jacket-ish-shrug-ish-waistcoat-ish garments, and the odd scarf!  I try to resist the scarf thing a bit, though - have you noticed how writers always wear them, artfully draped?!  I don't want to look like a middle-aged writer, I really don't.  I draw the line at witty earrings, too.  

Me and my pal Lesley, 2012.  

We may be in the autumn of our lives but we spit on colour co-ordinating separates!!

My sister, who is much more conservative in outlook than me, usually dresses like a smart city office worker.  Okay, she can do 'bag lady' as well as I can, when at home, and can still be seen in an Aerosmith t-shirt if you catch her early enough on a weekend morning, but her well cut dresses and classic tops express how she is, I suppose!  How anyone can be bothered to wear posh dresses when they don't have to is beyond me, but we're all different!  She wore lycra mini skirts and and over the knee boots twenty-odd years ago, too (Julia, remember the black stetson?) but we've just moved in different ways.  

Jools in one of her many smart frocks!

Often, though, people use the way they look as their identity, don't they?  The uniform of the punk, or the biker - or, one that always makes me laugh, the new age traveller types who want to be so 'individual' but actually wear as much of a uniform as the conservative city gent - the dreadlocks, the facial piercing, the tie-dyed trousers, the ex-army jacket.  

As instantly recognisable as the stockbroker in his designer suit...!  People who really are individual don't need a wacky hairstyle to prove it (that's a quote from a character in one of my books!).

For the lacking in confidence, assuming a certain mode of dress can given you an 'in' into a certain club, too - think geeky oddball blokes wearing heavy metal band t-shirts, for instance!! Um.......

Wayne and Garth... or is it???!!

Last of all, I give you the truly insecure ~ the fashion victim who spends £800 on a handbag because it's 'the thing to have'... because that handbag is not a handbag at all.  It's a placard saying "I am not only at the cutting edge of what is hot, I also have enough disposable income to buy it.  Thus, I am better than you".    They don't realise that on the back of the placard it says "I am desperate for approval and admiration."

Not quite sure where else I am going with any of this, huge subject that could be a much longer article - I'd love to hear about your own clothing preferences and any general opinions on this!

Black Tulip nail polish, white highlighter on the brow bone - and Charlie perfume....

This week it's nostalgia time again - the cosmetics of our youth :)

What was the first item of make-up you ever bought?  Like most little girls I started off trying on my mother's lipstick (Coty, in a gold case) when I was a child, but the first item of make-up I actually owned was a sparkly brown eyeshadow - Miners, I think - from Boots, in 1970 or 71.  My next was a similar one, in violet.  How lovely I must have looked....  

I used to get those Biba lipsticks, in the black cases, too - oh my my poor little fresh 16 year old face with awful dark make-up - you won't be told at that age, though, will you?  It probably looked all right at the time, but over the years I find I wear less and less.

Me in 1977, aged 18

I hoped to be able to provide loads of pictures of the make-up products of yesteryear, but, alas, there were not many to be found.  However, if you are a similar age to me you may enjoy some of these cosmetic memories.

Remember when Rimmel nail polishes looked like this?  I had one called Black Tulip (really dark plum sort of colour) and a horrible see-through pink....  The ones in the top right hand picture were the posher frosty ones I could never afford.

I remember, with my friends Ruth and Pam, sitting on the steps of The Odeon cinema, Northampton, on a Saturday afternoon in 1973, painting our nails sparkly blue and green from the Miners 'irridescent' range (and who the hell has school friends called Ruth and Pam these days?).

We used to believe all this stuff about what would make us beautiful, too. Advice like adding an egg to our shampoo, or using egg whites as face-packs ...  and did lemon juice really make your hair go lighter?  The one that I find the most amusing, looking back, was the shampoo Protein 21, which was supposed to mend split ends, complete with a TV advert showing them kind of glueing themselves back together, and a picture of actress Jane Seymour saying that she used it - sure she did. ;) 

Another product was something I couldn't find a picture for, though it appears to still be for sale, albeit with less outrageous claims: Helancyl

It was quite expensive; the kit came with this mitt thing (the one I bought, in 1979, was a lot more clumsy looking than the one in the picture above); this you filled with this magic Helancyl potion, which was released through holes in the mitt.  In the bath or shower you massaged your fat bits with it, and it was supposed to break down the fat cells.  Even at the time, I thought, nah, that can't be right...

I loved skin care products, as did my sister; I remember her telling me once that she had her priorities right because she had £1.50 left in the world and spent it on a bottle of Vichy skin toning lotion.  I'm so glad that my mother always instilled into us the importance of moisturising - it really does pay off. As one who drank and smoked for far too many years, I am sure my skin would be a lot worse if I hadn't slapped on the Astral/Cream E45/Nivea every night when I was younger.  Okay, you might have to wait 20 years to see the rewards, but please, if you're a 25 year old soap and water girl, start now! 

Do you remember Anne French cleansing milk, Inecto beer shampoo, Cream Silk and Breck conditioner, Ponds Cold cream - what were your teenage beauty products?

Well, if it was good enough for a Charlie's Angel...

Nothing takes you right back to years gone by like a smell, does it?  My first perfume experience was a range of colognes made by Rimmel in the 1960s; I remember there being lily of the valley and muguet, but I couldn't find any pictures of them.  I have to thank Alex Johnson, @oxfordnovelist on Twitter, for reminding me of my next attempt at smelling like a glamorous grown up lady - Aqua Manda by Goya, which I believe is being re-launched...

Just the sight of the bottle reminds me of one night, around that time, when I got a sachet of fake tan free in a magazine.  I was about 15.  I put it all over my face before going out to some disco, and thought, hmm, I don't look any different, so I slapped the whole lot on.  I didn't know that it took several hours to show....  I looked at my face in the mirror at about 9.30 that evening, and, I kid you not, it was as orange as the orange on the Aqua Manda bottle!  Thank goodness it was dark!

In 1975, of course, there was Charlie.....  to my great disappointment, when they re-launched it a few years ago it didn't smell the same :(

When I was 17 I wore Yardley's Je Suis...

.....moving on to Fidji by Guy Laroche when I was about 19, then Giorgio in the 1980s. 

Do you remember Tramp by Lentheric, Azuree by Estee Lauder, Gingham - and Babe??!!

The perfume that just screams the late 1970s was this one:  Vu by Ted Lapidus - just look at the packaging.  It comes straight out of the film 'The Stud', doesn't it? You can just see it being squirted on by Fontaine Khaled (aka Joan Collins), and the girls in Legs & Co, can't you?

Many smells later, I've finally settled on Guerlain's L'heure Bleue ~ itself one that's been around for years; it was first made in 1912.

Going back to the "they must think we were born yesterday" school of marketing, does anyone remember Ayds, those bits of fudge you were supposed to eat to stop yourself being hungry - which were swiftly withdrawn from the market in the early 1980s - wonder why? ;D  

I hope you've enjoyed this little bit of nostalgia, and I'd just like to leave you with this - how many of these chocolate bars do you remember?

My Life In Magazines

A post I originally wrote 11 years ago, updated with more pictures!

Were you a magazine addict, in the long ago days before the internet and the Kindle?  I adored and used to buy stacks of them, all through my teens, twenties and early thirties.  Seeing the new edition of Cosmo, Elle, Honey etc on the shelves in W H Smiths was always something of a thrill - that shiny, unread newness, with the promise of articles that would shape my life into something exciting and glossy.  I loved reading the beauty articles, hoping that if I did everything they said I would be beautiful, ignoring my suspicion that their purpose was merely to make you buy expensive products.  

Aside from glossies, a not-at-all guilty pleasure was the new copy of Slimming magazine, usually read whilst eating a bag of assorted toffees.  Loved all those obese-to-slim stories! 

I haven't bought any of these publications for decades; I don't know which ones still exist.  In the supermarket a while back, I took a look at one of those handbag-sized copies of Cosmo, and saw that it no longer contained long, interesting, in depth articles, but was filled with adverts and the magazine version of soundbites.  A nod to our dwindling concentration spans, perhaps, as more periodicals appear online only.

In remembrance of times past, I would like to share with you my magazine memories - did you read any of these?

 

When I was a child, my sister and I used to get June and School Friend every week.  I can't remember us ever arguing about who read it first - maybe it was automatically Julia, as she was the eldest!  I recall little about the contents, apart from one story called 'Swimming To Fame', about some girls who competed in swimming competitions. I was fascinated by all the different strokes, particularly the butterfly.  Didn't do me any good - I never got past half a width.

We also used to get those 'doll dressing' comics, where you could cut out the picture of a girl, stand her up on the flimsy stand, then cut out the clothes to put on her.  Julia and I used to make them, too.

From children's comics we moved on to Jackie, which we got from about 1968 to 1971. I was a bit too young for it (age 9 in 1968) but young teenage magazines in those days weren't as they are now; the most risque thing you might read about was whether or not to snog on the first date.  

What most people remember most about Jackie is The Cathy & Claire Page (the problem page).  How can I make him fancy me?  Why hasn't the boy I met on holiday replied to my letters?  How I longed to be grown up like those 13 year olds, wearing white lipstick and bell bottom trousers and going out with boys! Then there were the pin-ups on the back page - long forgotten names like Jack Wild, Ben Murphy, George Best... and David Cassidy, of course. 😁

By the time I was 12, I had my own magazine, all to myself.  Every Saturday evening, the wonder that was Fabulous 208! 

As well as being a mag for teenage girls, generally, it was all about Radio Luxembourg (the frequency of which was 208) - I used to listen to the station all the time, with DJs Kid Jenson, Dave Christian, Mark Wesley.  I adored this magazine.  Its arrival was the highlight of my week. My friend Sally and I used to ring each other up to discuss what was in it, cut out the pictures, etc... 😁 

In those days, teenage magazines often featured a column allegedly written by a pop star - there was a David Cassidy one in Fab 208.  Sally would insist it was really by him - even then, I knew it wasn't.  Was I was born jaded?

Another big favourite around this time was Disco 45, which, if I remember rightly, consisted of all the lyrics to songs in the Top 20.  And doubtless a column 'written by' Marc Bolan or Rod Stewart, I imagine.

There - it was all of 5p!!

I then moved on to more girly magazines, few of which existed after the mid 1970s: Valentine, Mirabelle, Petticoat, Romeo.  A new one came out in about 1972 - Look Now.  I think that one lasted a bit longer.

I must just take a step back for a moment; I remember going to stay with Julia's godmother in the summer of 1971, when I was 11 or just 12, and sitting in her conservatory sneakily looking at a copy of her glossy, glamorous Vanity Fair...

Judging by the cover, it must have been this very edition.  I sat on a sun lounger reading an article, furtively looking up to make sure no-one caught me doing so.  It was about a new book that had just been published called The Sensuous Woman, by some woman called 'J'.  In the interview with her she talked about oral sex - and I really, really did think that oral sex meant talking about it.  I hadn't come across the term before (as one would hope, at that age), and I couldn't work out why the practice was worthy of such discussion.  

When I was about 14-15, I used to buy the NME (New Musical Express), which fuelled my fledgling love of rock music.  That was back when everyone looked like this, of course.

On to the late seventies - who remembers those magazines you could buy in weekly parts, followed by all the binders to put them in?  I had a boyfriend who used to buy Supercook, because his ex had been really into cooking exotic dishes, and he carried on buying it; what a disappointment I must have been!  I think I made about 4 of the recipes in the whole collection.  Jiffy Tuna Surprise, Arroz Con Pollo, a thing with pork chops and wine ... and American Apple Pie, which was lush.

In the mid-late teens I read Honey and 19 ...

...and, of course, Cosmo!  That magazine taught me so much - I kid you not!  In this article I've tried to find issues with the covers that I actually remember.  I loved this one in 1976 of Jerry Hall; I believe it came out around the time she danced with Bryan Ferry in the video for Roxy Music's 'Let's Stick Together' - that was in her pre-Jagger days, of course.

In the 1980s I read Company (one of the best, I think), and Options...

and I was also introduced, by my boyfriend of the time who I later married, to The Fabulous Furry Freak Brothers.  He had piles of them.  I wonder if he's still got them.  

One day in the mid-late 80s, my brother came round with this brilliant new publication he'd discovered when he'd been working up north:

It was only about twelve pages long at the time, until it caught on and became available everywhere.  I bought it for many years.  My favourites were Modern Parents, The Critics, the Drunk Bakers, Mr Logic - and then there are the old favourites like Sid The Sexist, Paul Wicker the tall vicar, and the Pathetic Sharks. 

From about 1988 to 1992, going to see rock bands became a huge part of my life, and I used to buy Kerrang every week.  The gig guide!  I'd to read articles about bands and go buy their stuff if it sounded as though I'd like it.  Thunder, Faith No More, Dan Reed Network...

...and I discovered Aerosmith by reading Q magazine.  I was late to the party as far as they were concerned!

That's pretty much when I stopped buying magazines.  I moved onto Marie Claire for a while, but I found that, by then, I just wasn't very interested in many of the articles.  I'd feel like I'd read them all before - or just, quite simply, that they were aimed at people younger than me.  I'd buy one, finished reading it in about half an hour and think, well, that was a waste of £3.50, or whatever it cost. 

Recently I've discovered that people sell these old mags on ebay, and have bought a few copies of Jackie and Petticoat from the early 1970s.  A fascinating look back to a world that no longer exists, indeed :)

A final word - I remembered the other night that when we were about 12, friend Sally and I decided to make our own magazine to sell to our school friends.  It contained a problem page, pictures of pop stars, an article about someone famous, and a story.  Only problem was we didn't have access to any sort of printer or copier (did they exist in 1971???), so we wrote every page out by hand.  The idea was that the money we made would buy wool which we would knit into squares to make patchwork blankets for the cold and needy.  It never got past the first issue and the blanket was never made, but I remember sitting at the dining table of an evening, writing out that article about Rod Stewart, over and over again....