Under the arm and in the garden

The aforementioned gate-folds were a useful badge back then. Walking around Wolverhampton with Soft Machine 3 under your arm said it all. You might not make instant buddies, but a nod of recognition and understanding (especially from someone wearing the Boys Grammar uniform) went a long way. And, of course, the first thing you did when going to anyone's place was to check out the vinyl. So, when you are middle-aged and in the country, how the hell do you connect with people? We've met (and know) some lovely people in the village and count them as good friends. They've made a huge difference to our lives here, but we would also like to meet other seed-sprouting, solar-showered, frugal-living people. On a good day, we are convinced that there is an enclave out there in East Sussex (we know, but Forest Row is too far away). We also suspect Hastings Old Town harbours a few like-minded people. So what's the equivalent of pampas grass for us? We live on less than a B road, so passing trade, as it were, is unlikely, but there is a compulsion to shout out in some coded way - cooo-eee, hippies this way! On a somewhat less superficial level, I think we both feel we missed out in some way back then. We were too young to really appreciate the sixties, the early to mid seventies was good, but then punk happened and I so didn't get it. We are also both from conventional homes and followed conventional paths -school, university, work - until now, when, gawd help us, we've finally rebelled a bit. The camper was all part of this and now, even though she lies a-rustin in the front garden, she is being turned into a bit of a statement. Heaven knows what the neighbours think, but now we've a proper bed in there, cushions and a bead curtain, all we need (courtesy of Freecycle, hopefully), is a lava lamp. I wonder where the turntable can go?