We are going out tonight - yay! Some friends of ours who run a local restaurant are doing some 'themed' nights, which are proving successful. Tonight's is a 60s night and, knowing that we are old gits who were around at that time (even if we don't remember it too well), they sent us a personal invite. Well, how could we refuse?
60s dress is 'optional' but effectively compulsory. I used to have a fine set of resources for any fancy dress occasion. I had a fine old battered leather jacket with a silver eagle painted on the back (bought for a fiver in a drunken haze at Uni), and I would add drainpipe jeans, pointy boots and do my hair in a huge and greasy quiff. There I was - the 60s Rocker that I always aspired to at the time. Think Billy Fury:
Alas, there isn't enough hair up top to carry this off any more. Never mind - leathers, jeans, black shirt, white tie, biker boots and a snarl and I should be fine.
Anna is going as a hippy. I predict a riot.
UPDATE: everyone else went as a hippy, including two convincing John Lennons from his Bed-In period and a middle-aged chap dressed entirely - from head to foot - in tie-dye. I stuck out like a sore thumb, probably looking like one of the Great Train Robbers. On the plus side, the food was good and I got a cuddle from a fruity lady dressed straight out of Carnaby Street. Not all bad, then.
