Hey, guys. It's Kat. I have like a half an hour until I have to perform on stage so I have you guys until then.

How's the universe treating you? How's your feelings towards that?

C'mon don't be shy. I was a pyschology dropout until I realised I fit into literature a lot better.

I laugh at myself.

I had college, ballet, fencing, the band(s) or a band and an idea and my private tutor for astrology. So I was a busy girl, when I was what, 19, 21 maybe. All that, with a panic disorder. My life was a mess.

I got my PhD for literature in 1979. Twas, the greatest time of my life. I was a bookworm back in those days. A small, dark, shy thing, with a strong case of logolepsy and astrophilia.

I still am shy, and most of the time miserable, but at least I have friends, a wonderful husband, two amazing nieces and an extraordinary child now. My father is back with my biological mother and I am a mostly upbeat person, like I am at this moment in time and space.

My family was in shambles when I was a little girl in the 60s. My biological mother had been said to have died in a car crash, along with my brother, Philip. It was just my father, who wad bipolar, and me, a timid, small for my age, girl.

Now we were in the Aston Birmingham area, well my father, set out for London, on my twelth birthday. I was the new girl, going to a public (you Americans and others say private) school. I was terrified, over the top anxious, and that's when the panic disorder really started to kick in.

My schoolmaster told me to toughen up, which made it worse. I was in the bathroom, hiding from class. I was sunk down onto the floor, trying hard to get up, but my body would not volutarily move. It would not listen to me. I was shaking, my face burning red hot and I felt like I was being tortured for everything mircoscopic thing I ever did a tad bit out of sorts, differently, it was agonizing. Hot, burning tears, felt like they were branding my cheeks. I felt like I was going to vomit, too, which made the whole thing worse.

That's when I met Lily. Lilyana Patrick Downshend was the same year as me. I recongized her. She must have lived close to me, in Aston. She calmly, and quiet sunk down next to me and held my sweaty hand in hers.

She had no reason to help me. No motive to keep checking up on me to see that I was alright or trying to get there. She asked my name, where I came from, who I was as from family standards. She helped me and I couldn't never thank her enough for that.

And then, on Christmas holiday, I met my step-mum and her little kids. They were all prissy and posh and ungrateful. I wouldn't see how my father would love this hag. She was pretty, yes, older, 50 or so. Her two daughters were younger 7 to 9 years old, with dark brown, almost black hair and piercing blue eyes.

Definitely the opposite of John Entwistle.

It was a Cinderella story basically, now that I look back on it. The hag, and her brats left because my father noticed the thing about me that stood out, the panic disorder, and my step-family stepped on me, made me what to run away, teased me to the point of no return.

Soon, after a week or so, my father was the only one who sent me to boarding school again. To Lilyana. To my books. To my other life.

We studied together. We ate lunch in the common, late, so all the posh, pretty girls would leave.

I finished school in 1970 when I was 18, to work at my father's shop. Lily came with me. She left her family, and came with me, studying linguistics, above my father's music and record shop.

In my late teens, I started to hang out with some people I met through friends: Samantha Klein, her brother, Richie, Roxanne Lattimore DeMico, Elizabeth Kings, Charlotte Anne Accardo, Annaelise Wilton. I hung around with their boys as well.

There was this girl named Stephaine, but everyone called her Stevie. She wasn't super young, only five years younger than me, but it seemed like a lot.

We went down to Birmingham one night, summer, I think it was August. Anyways, I let Stevie go in front of me, all bubbly and joyus. She went up to the bar and hugged the blonde curly haired man without any hesitiation. He was in tight jeans, and basically a woman's floral blouse.

Stevie introduced Charlotte, Lily and I to the Robert Plant! There was also the Jimmy Page, being all mysterious and shit but still. My heroes, the legends.

It was great fun. They both made me almost faint three times. Robert was an obvious flirt, winking, smiling, offering me  and Charlotte a drink or two. He loved chatting girls up. But alas, it was Jimmy I was interested in.

We was hunched over the bar counter, with his stage clothes on. A few black ringlets covered his face. He was marvelous. He had no need to look at me, but he did. He smiled, leaving goosebumps on me. His eyes, his cheekbones, I felt myself getting weak. I'm happy, I didn't faint. That would be super embarrassing.

And the rest is history...

Well, I'm sorry, amies, it's my time. I must go, sweat my ass off on stage, performing with my girls, at this all day festival, that Rod thought would be a good coming out of the shadows thing. Welp, I think he's just making us work. XD! À tout à l'heure, mes belles!
🔮Kat🔮