Paris and a hit
I had a French girlfriend whose brother was a banker. He believed in me and invited me to stay with him in Paris while I finished a musical I was writing with another friend. In fact, he backed us and we all ended up being ripped off, but I fell deeply in love with Paris.
At that time all the Parisian men were going for a saturnine look with stubbly chins and Gaulloises in the corners of their mouths, leather jackets, old faded Levis and motorbikes. The women were wearing spray-on BLUE jeans, blouson shirts or skinny jumpers with little chokers – always all black – and patent shoes. Heavily made-up eyes blinked out from under blonde fringes. My image was much the same as those women. I was pretty and thin and doing a lot of modelling for magazines like Melody Maker, Oz and International Times, as well as nude shots and the odd soft-core porn movie to keep the money coming in. I had always looked like a girl, even at school where I was dubbed Shirley Temple by teachers and pupils alike, although I never had an effeminate bone in my body.
While I was in Paris my friend Marek and I made a single from one of the show songs, ‘Who Needs Rock and Roll’, which went to number one and gave me what felt like unlimited amounts of money.