My birth was a collaborative affair between two Pisceans named Bella and Ian. They are confusing, intelligent, humourous, good-looking, tall, complex, delicate, distant and idealistic.
I’m under the impression that Bella and Ian's eyes first met whilst they were dancing, dressed in go-go boots (her) and flares (him) to Rick Springfield or the likes, in the mid 1970s at a nightclub called 'Gobbles'. They were probably as hirsute as each other.
Gobbles was, and still is in some respects, an icon of the heady, free, innocent, hairy, polyestered days of the 1970s. Where men were men and women still had hairy bushes and wore exceptionally high and tight jeans. Then again, so did the men. Think "Bee Gees".
Gobbles was still around when I was a teenager, but closed before I was of legal age to visit, or able to get drunk enough to want to do so.
I’m not sure what went on that night between my two genetic donors, but I think their eyes locked across the dance floor, and in the ensuing hours, so did their lips. But whatever the circumstances, it eventuated in a child. So although Gobbles is not the most romantic place for my birth parents to have met, it bought them together, and produced me, so therefore holds a special place in my heart.
Gobbles Night Club interior circa 1976
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