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The following are memories recalled by Jenny Williams, as recorded by Hanover Housing Association in their book 'Tale of the Century' published in 1999.
There was only one place to be for a 'wannabe' trendy in the 60's, 'Swinging London'. So together with two like-minded friends, all of us just graduated from university, I headed south.
We found ourselves jobs as near to the centre of London as possible, in my case as a computer programmer with ICT (now ICL) just off Oxford Street, and set about effecting a makeover to convert three suburban 20 something's into trendy girls about town.
After getting a job to fund the makeover and allow us to eat, the next most important thing was to find a place to live. We had a choice: we could either live in relative comfort in a 'non happening' area, or live in cramped conditions close to 'where it was at'.
As far as we were concerned there was no real choice, so we ended up in a flat with one relatively small bedroom into which three beds were crammed, with a bathroom which we shared with the flat above us. But it was wonderful as far as we were concerned because it had a large sitting room to hold parties in and was situated just off the Fulham road within walking distance of the place where it all happened, the Kings Road.
Every Saturday morning we put on our shortest skirts, white knee socks, pale pink lipstick and black eye make-up and set off to parade along the Kings Road with all the other wannabes and a few who really were.
When any of us were 'between boy-friends' we would throw a party inviting all the eligible males we knew of and asked them to bring their friends. It was during such a party that we heard the news of president Kennedy's assassination. Everyone was stunned, it certainly had a sobering effect on all those present.
One day, new tenants moved into the flat above us. They were an American couple, older than us, but whose ability to party left us standing. Champagne breakfasts were their forté and the best part about these was that we were sometimes invited - wow, we really had arrived!
We knew that the male part of the duo was an artist and that all their friends were pretty strange in both dress and behaviour but we were really more interested in sharing their champagne.
The cleaning lady was totally disgusted with their lifestyle and because she regarded us as having appropriate standards (we kept the flat tidy - we were still suburban girls at heart), she took us into the top flat one day when they were away, to show us the piles of peanut shells and bottles under the bed where they had thrown them, presumably whilst lying in bed.
However the best was yet to come. One Sunday morning reading the Sunday Times colour supplement (there was only one in those days!) we came across a multi-page spread about the famous American pop artist Larry Rivers, whose paintings were being acclaimed as the latest thing for happening people to hang on their walls.
Yes, it was our neighbour, and we lived in reflected glory for months after this. Our parties became even more popular and our sitting room floor was populated most nights at weekends by a variety of friends sleeping over. It never seemed to be a problem to us having to pick our way across sleeping bodies to get to the kitchen or bathroom in the morning, it was just a feature of this wonderfully exciting life we were living in Swinging London.
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