TIGHT JEANS, TATTS AND TRUE LOVE

Ade­laide, 1971. Irene Thorn­ton, just back from London, meets Bon Scott, a singer with big dreams. In a new mem­oir, she re­veals how they fell in love, mar­ried — and the price of fame as he be­came AC/DC’s leg­endary front­man

The Advertiser - SA Weekend - - BOOK - Words irene thorn­ton

ev­ery­where you looked, peo­ple were busy get­ting pissed and stoned. At some point I re­alised the singer Doug Parkin­son was sit­ting next to me, which was a bit bizarre. He was very well known back then. He struck up a con­ver­sa­tion with me and I think he wanted to chat me up, but he didn’t get any­where. I was happy to sit and ob­serve the crowd. It felt like half of Ade­laide was on that farm, a wide mix of young peo­ple and older, arty types, all thrown in to­gether, all hav­ing a laugh.

An­drea had reap­peared and taken a seat next to me just as a com­mo­tion broke out on the other side of the room. She grinned and pointed. “There he is.” This was the bloke she’d been on about, this ma­cho-man wrestler, the lead singer of Fra­ter­nity. Je­sus, I thought. The guy who came stum­bling through the crowd was wear­ing noth­ing but a spray-on pair of tiny denim shorts. He had a girl in one arm and a drink in the other, and he was stum­bling left and right through the throng of peo­ple as he laughed his head off. He was a wiry-look­ing thing, much shorter than An­drea.

“His name is Bon Scott,” she said. I didn’t think much of him.

I had a great time at the party, in the end. A few drinks in, I felt quite at home, not that I had a clue where any­thing was. I went search­ing for the toi­let at one point, open­ing ev­ery door I came across to empty rooms and dead ends, right up un­til the very last door. I opened the door and froze

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