(Or hippy number 1)
That was our un-original name for her. She claimed to have actually spent time protesting in trees and have done some actual magic spells with actual magic crystals. Tragically, this initially impressed me somewhat (it was 1996). I should have been questioning her motives for performing magic to generate the ability to be more poor and more confused. Alarm bells should have rang when the whole reason that we met was because she joined our sixth form college to do pottery from somewhere down south because she claims to have placed a finger on the map with her eyes closed and figured that Nuneaton sounded like a nice enough place. Her hair and clothes smelt of cheap incense. Not that I got up close and sniffed her hair, more that it sort of radiated out of her like radioactive patchouli farts. I had the displeasure of visiting the house she rented with some other crusties. They were arguing about which washing powder to buy, whilst simultaneously having a competition to see who could go longest without using a hair brush. This is a particular bug bear of mine, because when people stop washing their hair for hippy reasons, they stupidly always stop brushing it aswell. Historically, we did not used to have shampoo and it was, in fact, regular use of a fine tooth comb that helped keep it “naturally” clean. Sigh. Anyway, one of them was insisting that they started buying the eco-friendly detergent at a greater expense, to the others disagreement. Rather than having individual choice it seemed that they shared all of the household goods via a money pot that they all contributed income into. The words “cult” and “commune” came to mind and I wanted out of there. My friend came back from the toilet and discreetly informed me that there was a soiled sanitary towel on the radiator (which was on), just cooking there, stinking the place out. We left.