I got an absolute craving today to slip into a brightly coloured check cheesecloth shirt and a pair of yellow/gold clogs with backs on them like I had in the Summers of the mid-1970s, just after I left school.
I know I don’t have any photos from that era because I had gone camera shy and anyway this was about touch and scent ~ not just appearance.
I used to go on day trips to Dublin with my older sister back them. She’s five and a bit years older than me and knew the ropes. We’d make for the Dandelion Market off Grafton Street and the smell of burning incense would waft around us as we ran our hands along the rails of trendy clothes and tried on clogs of colour with lovely soft leather uppers.
I had one perfect pair of clogs that lasted me for years until the leather binding frayed so much that I had to cast them to the dustbin of my late teenage years. I never managed to find another pair that had the same softness, flair, daring and, yes, comfort.
I had a quick look at google images of clogs and cheesecloth shirts this evening but they didn’t bring me anywhere near those heady days when we’d treat ourselves to the best burgers in town in Captain America’s before taking the train home to Drogheda with our purchases bulging in their psychedelic paper bags. The cheesecloth shirts, always with a little square of blue to match them up with flared denims, simply danced with colour and wovenness.
One of the most memorable trips ended with us going to Ken Russell’s film Mahler which had just reached Drogheda. Big Sis wanted to see it so I tagged along, only to be totally captivated and high on culture when we finally said goodbye to a day that we both sort of suspected would linger long in our memories.
No photos but perfect recall of a hot, sunny June night ~ early Summer in every sense.