I travelled around with a group and praised their music and watched their every action. I helped the lead guitarist stick stamps in his album. Then one horrible night, as I was walking down a dark alley, the 'boys' set upon me. They held me on the ground, removed every single piece of my clothing and then, grinning lecherously, they stuck 'Ban the Bomb' stickers and World Cup stamps all over me. It was horrid. I can never now live a happily married life, because every time I see my husband's priceless collection (he's got several penny reds and a jubilee issue) I just pass clean out. So please, rampant group members, control yourselves.
From a letter in Melody Maker,
quoted in This England 1965-1968: Selections from the 'This England' column of the 'New Statesman', edited by Audrey Hilton.
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