A soixante-huitard Biba diva
In 1968, Paris was aflame. Still clutching my virginity (and little else, except a motheaten teddy bear), I arrived alone at Orly Airport to find the taxi drivers and the air traffic controllers were on strike.
My body had been ravaged by anorexia and my figure was still unformed. On the catwalk, skeletons were the norm and so my modelling agency considered me photographically desirable. Hence I was sent to Paris to present my 18-year-old self to anybody who might hire me.
Because of the taxi strike, a rogue bunch of bandits calling themselves ‘Cars de Luxe’ were waiting outside the airport, ready to deflower every unsuspecting purse. Woefully unaware, I got into the first available car. The doors locked behind me as my surly driver explained the rules. The future wasn’t rosy if I didn’t comply. I gave him my every last franc and sou.
This monster’s robbery left me unable to eat for a week, except for the meagre breakfast in my hotel. The Metro was now out of bounds. All my excursions were on foot, walking many miles on my stick-thin legs. In 1968, London fashion had galloped ahead of Paris: hemlines around the navel, and men’s Little Lord Fauntleroy frilled shirts so tight that the buttons burst on the most modest paunch. In Paris, there was no such vulgarity. Clothes were simply draped across white board or paper in boutique windows. I looked out of place in my faux-leopardskin Biba trenchcoat, the fabric so thin that it looked and felt more like a dress. When the time came for me to leave Paris a week later, there was no plane to take me home. A soft-eyed chap offered me his bed, promising to sleep on the floor. A true gentleman, he fulfilled his promise.
At dawn the next day, he drove me back to the airport to grab an East African Airways plane that had dared to land unaided by the striking air traffic controllers.
My saviour revealed he was an Algerian vet on his way to an international conference. He took my number but, to this day, I have regretted my oafish behavior in leaving his phone calls unanswered.