Circa 1967. I remember being woken out of a deep sleep and hurriedly dressed in jumpers and coats to go out. My three year old mind was thinking, WTF? Was the house on fire? Had somebody died? Jesus, it must be Something Very Serious. Which I still think was a reasonable thing to think.
We were, in fact, going to a photo shoot at, like, 2 in the morning. Why? I do not know.
Of course, I never did need much of an excuse to party in the middle of the night, so I quickly got into the spirit of things and we smiled at the camera and laughed for hours, with little or no encouragement from the photographer. In fact, we had so much fun that I suspect a mouthful or two of red may have formed part of the equation.
Gotta love those rocknroll childhoods. I seemed to be born knowing that all the fun stuff happened at night. And I love the ballyangusthasana arms, around my beatnik Dad's neck. We were a team in those days, mate.