Here’s me then, 15 years of age – kicked out of home – living in a caravan behind a pub. It had no running water, no toilet. It had been used by the landlord and landlady to go to race meetings. They were fond of the gee-gees – as was Bob. That’s how he knew them. He was a gambling man. But he wouldn’t have bet on me to survive a winter there.
However, after my tears on the first night, I stayed for a full five years. I loved it. It became my sanctuary.
I’d been to a secondary modern school – I’d learned next to nothing. The teachers were more skilled at crowd control than imparting knowledge. Besides which, I didn’t really know how to learn. I had no idea. I only knew I was some sort of creative. It had been suggested that I go to Art school. At that time – I thought that’s where you go to meet other misfits….and ultimately you form or join a band ( I was already in one, anyway ). Nobody ever did anything with their art – did they?
In the 70s – things were quite different from nowadays. The Beatles inspired beat boom had left the second hand shops chock-a-block with cheap guitars, amplifiers and what-not. Bowie, T Rex and Roxy meant it was an attractive prospect; getting a group together, making some noise, playing a gig, boosting one’s confidence, meeting some girls….easy-peasy, eh?