My favourite album: Dark Side of the Moon by Pink Floyd

Guardian and Observer writers are picking their favourite albums – with a view that you might do the same. Here, Simon Hattenstone ventures over to the dark side with Pink Floyd

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Simon Hattenstone 

Friday 26 August 2011 

'Everything about it is perfect' … Pink Floyd's Dark Side of the Moon

I was 11 years old, had spent two years in bed with encephalitis, and had just started listening to music again. My parents bought me a music centre – massive speakers, radio, tape recorder, record player, stereo, the works. The ultimate in hi-tech. And I was buying like crazy – Mum and Dad were so pleased I had made it, they didn't notice, or care, that I was constantly blagging money off them for more records. Then I bought Dark Side of the Moon, and didn't get another record for months. I didn't need one.

1. Pink Floyd
2. Dark Side of the Moon
3. EMI
4. 1994

Everything about the album was perfect – the black cover, the prism image, the poster of those unearthly pyramids, the great curly sounds that came out of Rick Wright's synthesisers, Roger Waters's puckered lips, Dave Gilmour's hippy hair, the anti-capitalist onslaught (or so I thought), the ghostly despair of the music and, of course, the lyrics.

I knew nothing about Syd Barrett at the time, but I knew everything about me. And this was my album. I had had inflammation of the brain, almost died, had gone the full circle of lunacy, and withdrawn from the world. Now I was getting better, and Dark Side of the Moon helped me make a mad sense of everything that had happened.

It also brought me and Dad back together. Our relationship had virtually broken down when I first became ill. His best friend Bert was my doctor, and Bert had thought I was making it all up. Dad was caught between loyalties – me or Bert. And for a long time it looked as if he had chosen Bert. Eventually, he came back to me, but we needed to do a lot of bridge building. And this was where the Floyd came in.

It was summer 1974, and he would take afternoons off work (a massive sacrifice for him because he was a workaholic) and come into my bedroom and listen to the Floyd with me. There were two beds in my room. I lay on mine, he lay on the other, and we shut our eyes and concentrated. I didn't know what was going through his head, but I knew what was going through mine – how could any prog-rock group understand me so well? Every bit of my fucked-up personality was reflected in that record – Money was about all the greedy bastards out there, Us and Them was about me against the world, Time was about dying ("Hanging on in quiet desperation is the English way" is one of thegreat lyrics), as was The Great Gig in the Sky.

Meanwhile, Brain Damage might as well have been called Simon Hattenstone: My Story: "You lock the door/ And throw away the key/ There's someone in my head but it's not me."

Exactly. My head had exploded with dark forebodings, my dam had broken open many years too soon. The band that I was in had not only started playing different tunes – they'd stopped inviting me to the gigs. The lunatics were in my hall, in my head, every bleedin' where. When I sang along to Brain Damage I felt as if I was singing my life. Back then, I didn't understand that all those years Dad was crippled by depression, so perhaps Dark Side of the Moon meant just as much to him in the same way. Every day that summer he'd come into my room, and we'd lie on our respective beds, and listen to it all the way through in silence with eyes shut. And at the end, without fail, he'd say: "Best bleddy record in the world that, Si."

• You can write your own review of this record: once you're signed into the Guardian website, visit the album's dedicated page.

Or you could simply star rate it, or add it to one of your album lists. There are more than 3m new pages for you to explore as well as 600,000-plus artists' pages. So maybe your prog-rock radar picks out King Crimson's In the Court of the Crimson King as the greater masterpiece? Maybe you'd sooner blow it out of the water with a review of the Sex Pistols' Never Mind the Bollocks? Either way, here's your chance to find those albums and get to work!

THE GUARDIAN

Obituaries / Syd Barrett

Syd Barrett

Former lead singer of Pink Floyd whose drug-induced breakdown and reclusive retirement created a musical legend

By Alan Clayson
The Guardian, Tuesday 11 July 2006

Syd Barrett, the maverick frontman and creative force behind early Pink Floyd, who has died from cancer aged 60, was the ultimate of pop recluses. His departure from the band in 1968 - then on the threshold of global eminence - and his retirement as a professional musician to lead an outwardly unproductive life was on a par with, say, Mick Jagger leaving the Rolling Stones in 1964 to live quietly with his parents.

The fourth of five siblings, he was born Roger Barrett in Cambridge. If blighted by the death of his father, a hospital pathologist, his upbringing was more liberal and steeped in culture than most. Before he graduated to Cambridge High School, he showed promise as a classical pianist and, more so, as a visual artist. However, intrigued by an elder brother's skiffle combo, he taught himself guitar, mostly by playing along to records. He and a kindred spirit, David Gilmour, practised together, but did not progress much further than talking about starting a group.

It was around this time that Roger acquired the nickname "Syd". At 16, he was playing with local beat groups, sometimes sharing a stage with bass guitarist Roger Waters. On obtaining respective scholarships at Camberwell Art College and Regent Street Polytechnic, Barrett and Waters moved to London where their band, the Pink Floyd, smouldered into form, with Barrett, Waters, drummer Nick Mason and Rick Wright on keyboards.

The gradual introduction of adventurous self-written material and lengthy monochordal improvisations made them popular fixtures in the capital's underground clubs where light shows simulated psychedelic experience. Snapped up by EMI, their debut single, Arnold Layne, was, as expected, self-consciously "weird" - and a Top 30 entry, despite airplay restrictions. The follow-up, a tartly-arranged See Emily Play - also composed by Syd - climbed to Number Six. Perhaps more satisfying for the group was recognition by the Beatles, who looked in during a Floyd session for 1967's groundbreaking The Piper At The Gates Of Dawn. The maiden album was penned almost entirely by the charismatic Barrett, who, as a guitarist was as capable of severe dissonance as serene, if echo-laden, melody, and whose vocal style was as English as Elvis Presley's was American.

With the other personnel keeping pace, he'd gone far into the cosmos and back musically with Astronomy Domine, and disconnected with Earth altogether on Interstellar Overdrive. Moreover, Gnome, Matilda Mother, Flaming and medieval-flavoured Scarecrow cornered pop's gingerbread castle hour more effectively and instinctively than, for example, the Beatles' Lucy In The Sky With Diamonds.

Fortunately for the Fab Four, a now drug-addled Barrett was already proving ill equipped to cope with pop stardom, particularly after a troubled US tour and the disappointment of a flop third single, Apples and Oranges. In 1968, David Gilmour was enlisted as the increasingly unreliable Barrett's understudy and then his successor during the making of a transitional second album, A Saucerful Of Secrets. Although happier as concert performers, Pink Floyd - as they were now called - were initially at a loss without Barrett's input.

Attempting to master his more absolute inner chaos, Barrett released two curate's egg solo albums in 1970, The Madcap Laughs and the more focused Barrett, with help from members of Soft Machine, Humble Pie - and Pink Floyd, and was persuaded to undertake disinclined promotional stage appearances. Eventually, he returned to Cambridge where he fronted a trio called Stars, who struggled through a solitary official booking at the city's Corn Exchange in 1972.

The years left to Barrett were almost perversely unremarkable. Though he was known to be a painter, he neither exhibited nor sold any work. Nevertheless, a legend took shape, bringing out strange stories, the most verifiable of which was of Barrett presenting himself, portly and shaven-headed, in the studio when Pink Floyd were recording the 1975 album Wish You Were Here - which included the Barrett tribute Shine On You Crazy Diamond.

Since then, intrusive press photographs of Barrett have portrayed him looking as middle-aged as his now multi-millionaire colleagues. In the teeth of dull truth, Barrett continued to fascinate countless fans as well as record company moguls, scraping the barrel for anything on which he so much as breathed - such as the big-selling 1993 CD box set, Crazy Diamond, incorporating hitherto-unreleased tracks.

Barrett's income of invalidity benefit and fluctuating royalties was buoyed by tributes paid by other artists, most conspicuously David Bowie who revived See Emily Play on his 1973 Pin-Ups album, and more recently Arnold Layne which he performed with David Gilmour in London. Yet few of the faithful expected or even wanted Barrett to make a comeback, no matter how rejuvenated or contemporary. They preferred him as an ever-silent, "no return" saga rather than one in which he was likely to try and fail to debunk the myth of an artistic death.

· Syd Barrett (Roger Keith Barrett, musician, composer, born January 6 1946; died July 7 2006

THE GUARDIAN

See also

Syd Barrett / Gallery

Syd Barrett / Gallery

Syd Barret

GALLERY

The Strange Tale Of Iggy The Eskimo

The Strange Tale Of Iggy The Eskimo 

by Mark Blake

If there is one image of Syd Barrett that never ceases to fascinate it's the back cover of his debut album, The Madcap Laughs. The reason: the mysterious naked woman perched on a stool with her head thrown back and face obscured by swathes of long dark hair. Syd's companion was known only as "Iggy The Eskimo". But as Barrett fans have been wondering since 1970 - who was Iggy and where did she go?

Photographer Mick Rock believed that his cover girl had "married a rich guy and moved off the scene". Barrett's old flatmate, the artist Duggie Fields, heard that "Iggy had become involved with one of the voguish religious cults of the time", before adding to the mythology with a story of once seeing her disembarking from a Number 31 bus in Kensington, wearing a 1940s-era gold lamé dress, and very little else.

In 2002, Mick's coffee-table book Psychedelic Renegades featured more shots of Syd and Iggy posing outside the Earls Court mansion block, alongside Barrett's abandoned Pontiac. Rock's photos found their way onto most Pink Floyd fansites, where Iggy had acquired cult status. Before long, The Holy Church Of Iggy The Inuit, a fansite in her honour, had appeared, its webmaster, Felix Atagong, sifting through ever scrap of information gleaned from MOJO and elsewhere with a forensic scientist's attention to detail. Among Felix's discoveries was a November 1966 issue of NME which featured a photo of "Iggy who is half eskimo" dancing at South Kensington's Cromwellian club.

While researching my Pink Floyd biography (2007's Pigs Might Fly: The Inside Story Of Pink Floyd) I quizzed everyone about Iggy's whereabouts. Anthony Stern, formerly a schoolmate of David Gilmour's, told me he had met her at a Hendrix gig and had just discovered photos he had taken of her on a houseboat in Chelsea; Anthony had also filmed Iggy dancing in Russell Square. Meanwhile, former Middle Earth club DJJeff Dexter recalled meeting "the mysterious-looking" Iggy in 1963, when she was a "part of a group of very wonderful looking South London girls" that danced at The Orchid Ballroom in Purley. Jeff even hatched a plan with his friend, the late DJ and Shadows songwriter Ian "Sammy" Samwell, to turn Iggy and two of her friends into "a British version of The Supremes. We booked a studio but unfortunately none of them could sing." Believing that Iggy may have gone to school in Thornton Heath, Jeff and Anthony contacted The Croydon Guardian, who ran an article - So Where Did She Go To, My Lovely - enquiring after the whereabouts of the girl "who entirely captured the spirit of the '60s".

Then, in March 2010, MOJO received a letter from ex-Cambridge mod Pete Brown, who had "shared some wild nights on the town with Iggy in the 1970s". Pete informed us that Iggy had been last heard of in the '80s "working at a racing stables... and has since been keeping her whereabouts quiet." Pete sent a copy of the letter to The Croydon Guardian, whose reporter traced Iggy through the stables and phoned her out of the blue. Their subsequent article included a handful of quotes from its reluctant subject, including the words: "I have now left that life behind me." Which is why it came as a surprise when my mobile rang late one Saturday night. "It's Iggy!" declared the voice at the other end, as if I would have known that already. "I've been reading what you wrote about me in MOJO... about the pictures of my bottom."

The local newspaper's call had prompted Iggy to borrow a neighbour's computer and go online for the first time. She was amazed to discover MOJO, the fansites, the photos, and the wild speculation and misinformation about her time with Syd Barrett. Which is why, in October 2010, I found myself stepping off a train at an otherwise deserted Sussex railway station to be met by the woman that had once graced the cover of The Madcap Laughs. Three hours in a local gastro-pub and countless phone calls later, Iggy pieced together her story. Some of it was printed in MOJO 207, the rest is here...

Firstly, why Iggy? "My real name is Evelyn," she explains. "But when I was a child, my neighbour's young daughter could never pronounce Evelyn, and always called me Iggy. Now everyone calls me as Iggy. But 'The Eskimo' nickname was a joke. That was something I told the photographer from the NME when he took my picture at The Cromwellian." Iggy's father was a British army officer, who served alongside Louis Mountbatten, and attended the official handover ceremony from Great Britain to India's first Prime Minister, Jawaharial Nehru in 1947. "My father also knew all about Mountbatten's wife's affair with Nehru," she adds mischievously. During a spell of leave, he had travelled to a remote village in the Himalayas "where he met the woman that would become my mother." Iggy was born in Pakistan, and attended army schools in India and Aden, before the family moved to England. But not, as believed, Thornton Heath. "I grew up by the seaside," she reveals. "I went to art school. I became a mod in Brighton, and saw the fights with the rockers, and I met The Who when they were on Ready Steady Go! I loved soul music, loved The Righteous Brothers, and I loved dancing, so I used to go to all the clubs - The Orchid Ballroom in Purley, where I met lovely Jeff Dexter, The Cromwellian, The Flamingo, The Roaring Twenties..."

It was at The Cromwellian that Iggy encountered Eric Clapton. "I didn't know who he was at first," she insists. "He took me to meet Lionel Bart and to a party at Brian Epstein's place..." By the mid-'60s Iggy had become a Zelig-like presence on the capital's music scene, sometimes in the company of Keith Moon, Brian Jones, Keith Richards.... She saw Hendrix make his UK debut at the Bag O' Nails in November '66, and in February '67, narrowly avoided the police raid at Richards' country pile, in West Wittering: "The night before, I decided not to go, thank God." A year later, still in the Stones' orbit, she found herself watching the recording sessions for what became Sympathy For The Devil.

By then, Iggy had made her film debut. In 1967, IN Gear was a short documentary screened as a supporting film in cinemas around the country. Its theme was Swinging London, including the chic Kings Road clothes shop Granny Takes A Trip, a place, according to the breathless narrator that "conforms to the non-conformist image of the !" A mini-skirted Iggy can be seenin one silent clip, sifting through a rack of clothes and chatting with Granny's co-owner Nigel Waymouth.

By 1967, pop music had changed. The summer before, Iggy had met Syd Barrett's girlfriend Jenny Spires, and drifted into the Floyd's social clique, showing up at the UFO club nights where Pink Floyd played regularly: "When I recently watched that Syd Barrett documentary [The Pink Floyd & Syd Barrett & Story] and saw Syd in the kaftan, chanting [on Pow R Toc H], the memories came rushing back," she explains. "I'd been there. I'd seen that." In April '67, Iggy joined the counter-culture throng in Alexandra Palace for The 14-Hour Technicolor Dream - "all 14 hours of it!" - where Floyd played a hypnotic set at dawn.

By early 1968, though Barrett had been replaced by David Gilmour, and, according to many, was on a drug-fuelled downward spiral. Towards the end of the year, he moved into a new place with his level-headed friend, the would-be artist Duggie Fields. The pair took over a two-bedroom flat at 29 Wetherby Mansions in Earls Court. Around January '69, at Jenny Spires' suggestion, Iggy, needing a place to stay, moved in. She hooked up with Barrett, but shared a musical bond with Fields: "Duggie and I were into soul music, and Syd used to laugh at me dancing around to Motown."

As Iggy told MOJO 207: "I didn't know Syd had been a pop star." Elaborating further, "I didn't make the connection between him and the person I had seen at UFO. I knew he was beautiful looking and he had real presence, but that was all." Once, when she picked up his acoustic guitar, fooling around, he took it off her and started playing properly. "I was overwhelmed. The way he played the guitar, the way he moved. He said, 'Do you think I look good?'," she laughs. "I said, 'You look amazing. Wow!' He then said, 'Would you listen to this?' And he bought out this big, old-fashioned reel-to-reel tape recorder, and said, 'Tell me what you think'." Syd then played her the songs that would end up on The Madcap Laughs. One track, Terrapin, made an immediate impression. "I said, 'That's quite catchy', and, of course, I don't think Syd was really into catchy...It was a long tape, and he didn't demand any opinion, but just asked if I thought it was OK. At the end he said 'Someone at EMI - I cannot remember the name - wants me to make a record. How would you feel about having a rock star boyfriend?'"

While there are many reports of Barrett being withdrawn and even aggressive at this time, Iggy remembers it differently. "People talk about Syd's madness and his dark side, but I never saw it," she states. "We had a wonderful giggly time. There were no sinister moments." Only briefly did she glimpse a more troubled side to his personality. "One day, he said to me, 'How do you feel? Are you sad?' I was naked, and he went and got some paint and painted two great big eyes on my breasts with two tears coming down, and on my belly button he painted an arrow and underneath that a picture of me with a big belly, and said, 'There could be life in there. I could give you life.' But I didn't want that at all. So I panicked, and scrubbed it off." He was also uncomfortable with some aspects of fame, as Iggy discovered on a night out with Syd to The Speakeasy, a music-biz haunt in Margaret Street. "We'd persuaded Syd to go, but it was full of posers," she admits. "There were a few of us there. Someone asked the DJ to put on See Emily Play, which was a stupid thing to do." A hit for Pink Floyd more than two years before, the dance-floor cleared. "So I went on and started dancing, but Syd ran off. He was obviously very sensitive about it all."

"We had a wonderful giggly time. There were no sinister moments."

In March '69, Barrett began recording The Madcap Laughs at Abbey Road, but his erratic behaviour in the studio resulted in Roger Waters and David Gilmour helping to oversee the sessions. Gilmour was now living in Richmond Mansions, a block so close to Wetherby Mansions that he could almost see into Syd and Duggie's kitchen window. One evening, Syd announced that he had to go out. Iggy wanted to go with him, but Barrett insisted she remain at the flat. "I think I thought he was seeing another woman," she says. "I got a bit jealous, a bit pouty - very silly. Duggie knew where Syd had gone but wouldn't tell me." With Syd gone, Iggy decided to pay a visit to David Gilmour instead. Fields helped Iggy back-comb her hair, plaster her face with make-up and paint her lips black. "I looked like Medusa. Like a banshee. Duggie then took me round to Dave's place. Dave was very beautiful and very cool, and his flat was nicer than Syd and Duggie's - it was warmer for a start. Dave opened the door, took one look at me, but didn't bat an eyelid."

When Iggy walked in, she saw Syd sat in Gilmour's living room. "I went in, shouting, 'OK, where is she?' thinking there was a woman hiding in one of the rooms. But, of course, the meeting had been with Dave about the record they were making together." Barrett left Iggy with Gilmour, but rather the worse for wear, she knocked the stylus on his record player accidentally scratching his copy of Pink Floyd's brand new album. "I have no idea what album it was, only that it was their new album," Iggy sighs. (The likely candidate seems to beSoundtrack From The Film More) "So Dave threw me out... If he ever reads this I would like to say sorry for scratching his record." Back at Wetherby Mansions, Barrett was unfazed by her planned defection: "Syd just said, 'Come in love, and I'll make you a cup of tea'. How sweet."

By now, Barrett had prepared his bedroom forThe Madcap... cover shoot, painting most of the floorboards orange and mauve. On the morning of the shoot, Syd asked Iggy to help finish the job. "He jumped off the mattress and said, 'Quick, grab a paint brush.' He did one stripe and I did another. If you look at Mick Rock's pictures, I have paint on the soles of my feet." When Rock arrived with the Floyd's sleeve designer Storm Thorgerson to take the photos, a naked Iggy went to put some clothes on. "But Syd said, 'No, don't'. That was his wicked sense of humour. I put the kohl around his eyes that day and tousled up his hair: come on Syd, give us a smile, moody, moody, moody! But he knew exactly what he was doing. He was as sharp as anything. He set the tone. He was the manipulator."

"Syd just said, 'Come in love, and I'll make you a cup of tea'. How sweet."

Iggy joined Syd for further photos outside the flat. Later, Rock recalled showing Barrett one of the pictures and Syd mysteriously scratching around Iggy's image; an act that has acquired some significance among Barrett's more earnest devotees. "They're making something out of nothing," she insists. "Later on, Syd showed me one of the pictures and said, 'You like that one, don't you? I know why, because of your cheekbones'. I think I was sucking on a cigarette, and, yes, I was being vain, I liked the way my cheekbones looked. So he tore the pic in half and gave it to me. There was nothing more to it than that." Strangely, Iggy also recalls other photographs being taken that day, which have never appeared since. "I don't think Storm and Mick were very impressed by them. If you've ever seen the cover of the Rod Stewart album,Blondes Have More Fun, they were a bit like that... Of me and Syd. There were others of me and Syd, as well, which remind me of the picture of John and Yoko [on Two Virgins] which came out later. I'd love to see those pictures now."

Before long, Iggy had drifted out of Wetherby Mansions and out of Syd's life as quickly as she had drifted in. When she returned later, Duggie told her: "Syd's not here. He's gone back to Cambridge. Don't bother trying to find him." She never saw him again, and is adamant she only became aware of her presence on the cover ofThe Madcap Laughs after being phoned by the Croydon Guardian: "I went to a boot sale with my husband... When I saw the cover, I thought, Oh yes, that is my bottom."

Although the stories of her marrying a rich banker and joining a religious cult are untrue, there is a kernel of truth: after Syd, Iggy began seeing a wealthy businessman who was also a scientologist. However Duggie Fields' recollection of spotting Iggy climbing off a bus in a gold lamé dress is not in dispute: "It was a beautiful dress that cost £50." Still a fixture on the music scene, Iggy recalls accompanying 'Pink Fairies' drummer Twink to the Isle Of Wight Festival and turning up "for the very first Glastonbury... ". But in 1978 Iggy married her husband, Andrew, and "left that life behind me".

"I heard on the radio that Syd died, and I felt sad, but it was so long ago," she says. Since reading about those times in MOJO, the memories of the people and the places have slowly come back to her. "Mick Rock took some beautiful picture of me," she smiles. "But, of course, I wish I'd been paid some money for them. Still, it is amazing that people have been looking for me... and that someone has even set up a website. I still don't know what to make of all this." The fascination continues. Last week, Iggy called to tell me she had found a poem online written about her by a professor at a university in Missouri. "And it's in French," she said, sounding astonished. "'Iggy l'esquimo, Fille De Le Space'...it goes. I never believed anyone would ever write a poem for me."

by Mark Blake 

Thanks to: Felix Atagong, Jeff Dexter and Anthony Stern

Posted by Ross_Bennett at 4:54 PM GMT 20/01/2011

http://www.mojo4music.com/blog/2011/01/iggy_the_eskimo_1.html

Iggy the Eskimo / After three decades

Iggy the Eskimo

Croydon Guardian tracks down 

elusive rock star muse

by Kirsty Whalley

13th February 2010

An iconic model who stole Syd Barrett’s heart in the 1960s has been found after three decades of anonymity.

Known only as Iggy, the enigmatic woman was immortalised posing naked for the Pink Floyd star’s solo album, Madcap Laughs.

She disappeared in the late 1970s and has been living in West Sussex, oblivious to her iconic status.

In September 2008, the Croydon Guardian appealed for information about the model and, more than a year later, we managed to track her down.

She inspired artist Anthony Stern, who filmed her dancing in Battersea Park and also took striking photographs of her on a houseboat in Chelsea.

They were released at the City Wakes festival – a tribute to Syd Barrett – in October 2008, in Cambridge.

Mr Stern said: “Iggy was my muse. I met her at a Hendrix gig at the Speakeasy.

“She entirely captures the spirit of the Sixties, living for the moment, carefree.”

Iggy said: “I cannot believe there is a film of me, that there are photos of me.”

Iggy spent a brief part of the 60s living in Croydon with DJ Jeff Dexter, who used to play at the Orchid Ballroom.

She said: “The Orchid Ballroom was the place to be, the atmosphere was fantastic.

“I loved going there, I loved to dance.

“Jeff wanted to turn me and two other lovely girls into the English version of the Supremes, but that never happened.”

She does not like to talk much about Syd Barrett, but admits she lived with him in Chelsea in the late 1960s.

She said: “Syd was so beautiful looking.

“We had a relationship, I lived with him for a while.”

It was at that time she became known as Iggy the Eskimo.

She said: “In part I made up the nickname.

“The rest was the photographer Mick Rock, who asked where I was from.

“I said ‘my mother is from the Himalayas’ and he said ‘we will call you Iggy the Eskimo’.”

Mick Rock took the pictures for Madcap Laughs.

Iggy said: “When Mick turned up to take the photos I helped paint the floor boards for the shoot, I was covered in paint, I still remember the smell of it.

“In the pictures my hair looks quite funny, I remember hiding my face behind it because I did not want my mum and dad to see it.”

She broke up with Syd Barrett shortly after the photo shoot and moved to Brighton.

She said: “I have just been living very quietly, I left London in the 70s and I got married in 1978.

“I met so many people in the 60s – the Beatles, the Who, the Rolling Stones and Rod Stewart.

“I was a free spirit. I have left that life behind me now.”

GALLERY