On the beauty of nylon

A couple of people have sent me off on a nylon frenzy these last couple of days. Oh how enlightened I feel!

Since 40 (used to, maybe!) marks the passage to ‘old age’, On Saturday I will be spending the night with eight very good friends in La France, getting my groove on, granny-style. There will be nylon. There will be polyester. There may be sparks. There will hopefully be lots of laughs. We’re watching two films from my youth, Pretty in Pink and The Breakfast Club. I can dream about being Molly Ringwald again. There will be duvets and there will be takeaway curry. There will be bed socks and dressing gowns and curlers, and, if the truth be told, I’m looking forward to another 40 years of such pursuits.

I did do an internet search for Brentford Nylons yesterday when I found myself explaining to several bemused Russians about what I was doing over the weekend in light of the Emmaus. I’d like to share a little something I found that might ease you into the mood I’m hoping to recreate on Saturday. If nothing else, you’ll see how advertising has evolved these last 40 years!

 

I am pretty sure my Nan had lots of those Brentford nylon blankets. I’m also pretty sure my Nana, her daughter, was a cotton girl herself, even when it wasn’t fashionable. I’m sure we never got on board with the Seventies chez Lee. No Smash. No Imperial Leather. We did have Angel Delight once in a while. As you can see from the following picture, I was quite a dazzling array of fabric. Copper lamé and brown corduroy. A Seventies dream.

lameIt’s little wonder my hair was so static. Strangely, apart from the grey hair, it’s much the same. I still love corduroy though. I’m such a Seventies throwback. And just to finish it off, Seventies’ style, here’s Hot Chocolate with Emma

Anyway, Saturday is going to be old-lady-tastic and anyone who knows me knows I’m not going to age either gracefully or with any dignity.

p.s; For a disco anthem, it’s pretty depressing.

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