The summer of ’72 was possibly the most camp and sequin-studded moment in British history. The Rise and Fall of Ziggy Stardust and the Spiders from Mars — the fifth album by David Bowie — had landed. Glam rock was peaking. After striving for success for most of the 1960s, Bowie was now centre stage and spotlit, wearing nothing but a twinkle-knit unitard and a feather boa.
On Saturday 19 August, I laced up my towering Bata platform shoes, threw on my Mr Freedom pleated flares and headed — along with a bunch of mates from my hometown of Reading — to the Finsbury Park Rainbow to watch Bowie unleash his Ziggy incarnation. For me, a semi-closeted gay lad working at the local John Lewis and spending Saturday nights avoiding skinheads, it was nothing short of a religious experience. I took the train back to Reading knowing that I had found my people. This was my Emerald City.
