I once spent an evening in the company of Three Hundred London Hippies, Ken Babs and his wife. It was a talk Ken was giving in London with Video clips and soundtracks. “Ken Babs and the Merry Pranksters, A multimedia Experience” is what they’d call it now.

Anyway, Ken was on Stage and the Three Hundred Hippies lay between he and me and my girlfriend, sitting at the back in suits having gone straight from work. Sitting next to me was a well dressed and pleasant middle aged American lady who turned out to be Kens wife.

I seem to recall we made some polite conversation but embarrassingly my girlfriend and I left half way through what was billed to be a four hour show. I am not sure now if it was the overwhelming nature of the “multimedia experience” which was in itself an assault on the mind, Ken dressed in a black cowboy suit reeling off stories as six screens behind him showed footage of “the bus” and tapes blared out recordings - or the additional assault on the sense of smell: specifically the smell of three hundred London Hippies.