London Village Advertisements in Time Out magazine

So there they were. In a box next to the videos for 1 pound a piece of 3 for 2.50. I was in a charity shop on Marylebone High Street, London W.1. last week. I love perusing charity shops. In a box were about seven copies of Time Out magazine from 1973 and 1974. Prime London Village era.


1970’s was an era when you had to buy Time Out with real money, unlike today where they hand them out at tube stations gratis.

Absolutely fab’ to leaf thru the pages. And of course, there were ad’s for both IVC (Intervaristy Club) when the still had their club premises on Queensway W2. I liked to go there on Saturday nights for the disco/dancing. A good night out.

London Village Ad’s


I regularly volunteered to do the ‘meet and greet’ at the Grosvenor Hotel. A social night out which usually ended up at the Shakespeare pub, at the forecourt of Victoria Station. (Still there today – 2018)



And the good old IVC ad’:


Thanks for reading

Keith Howard.



Monday gets no respect, but the Neighborhood is Riveting


I don’t care if Monday’s blue
Tuesday’s grey and Wednesday too
Thursday I don’t care about you
It’s Friday I’m in love

Friday I’m In Love, The Cure

That’s how the week goes, right? Weekend days don’t need any primping in song lyrics. We all know they’re for convivial activities of all sorts. But poor Monday, moon day, gets no respect. That was the rough gist of copy which ran in the London Village events magazine advertising a Monday night party.

The party was hosted by a young Rhodesian guy. Rhodesia wasn’t formerly renamed to Zimbabwe until 1980, and Monday Party rocked in about 1973. Mr. Host was popular and showed up at parties with several women, so he was quite welcome. The reason I’m sure he was Rhodesian was that he related that he regularly drove products to the markets in Bulawayo. The city name was new to me and so it stuck.

Monday party was in the basement flat of a house on Manchester Street, W.1. In estate agent parlance that would be the garden flat. If I were pressed, I would plunk down a bet on it being number 28 Manchester Street. I walked there from our distinguished Brown Street flat. (Fairly sure Brian came along too. I’ll check if he remembers.) I swing my memory eyes around the room. About 20 people. Not bad for Monday you can fall apart day of the week.

Frankly, I didn’t care what the event was, the London Village social network provided an opportunity to explore the whole of London, from the inside. Growing up in green, quiet, north London suburbs, I found central London rivetingly exciting. And you know what, I still do.

Even now, when I watch YouTube videos posted of walks around London, I can’t help but chip in with route suggestions – in a non-braty way – I hope. “South Kensington tube station to Kings Road, via Pelham Street and Sloane Avenue.” That’ll work. But then you’ll miss the cute Cale Street triangle. Yes, Pelham Street to Fulham Road. You’re now at the corner where Terence Conran opened his first habitat shop in 1964. It’s now the Joseph’s store at 77 Fulham Road. The basement of habitat included a vast selection of wicker baskets. The fragrance of the wicker was deeply earthy and enveloping. Nowadays, check out Sir T’s Conran Shop, then swing right onto Ixworth Street all the way to Elystan Street then left to the Cale Street triangle. Straight across along Markham Street and you’ve arrived at the boisterous Kings Road.


I emailed Gary Fahy of to commend his video walk down the Kings Road, and lamenting, as did he, the loss of the Chelsea Kitchen. It was my all time favorite cheap and cheerful lunch spot. 98 Kings Road, from 1962 to 2006. (I snapped this pic’ in 1997.)

Monday you can hold your head
Tuesday, Wednesday stay in bed
Or Thursday watch the walls instead
It’s Friday I’m in love.

No way! Any day was the best day to explore rivetingly London. Even Mondays. Correction, especially Mondays. Show some respect.

Keith Howard
Comments are welcome below.

If you were in the LV circle in the 1970’s, I would love to hear your memories and post them for others to enjoy.

London Village – Social Whirlwind of the 1970’s


If you were in your 20’s in the 1970’s, lived in London and were looking for a way to meet new people, friends, lovers, then you may well have been part of the vibrant social network called London Village (LV). It worked like this: People paid to join, about 10 pounds a year, then you had the option to organize a social event or go along to events other members organized. The event could be as simple as a pub evening get together or as elaborate as a river boat disco party along the Thames. You mailed in the event details (yes, via regular Royal Mail snail mail) to the LV HQ. Your event details were listed in the monthly magazine which was mailed out to members. Sounds quaint by today’s flash-mob event, details of which are Tweeted less than an hour before. But did LV work in the pre-smartphone, pre-text-messgae dark ages?  Did it ever!

I was 19 when I joined up, and to say the decision changed my life would be an understatement. Late-teens and 20’s are vital and formative years in one’s life. The experiences you have, and importantly, the people you meet, impact your life in profound ways, often for the rest of your life. (How I ended up living in the United States for a period of time was a direct result of going to a London Village party, but more on that in a later post.) I dare say many other members could share life altering tales from the events they trekked to or people they encountered. I’d love to hear about them if you’d care to share them.


I learned of LV through some cool and creative ad’s that ran in Time Out magazine. The tag line of the best one (IMO) was: Even the Dustman Noticed the Difference! The page was split down the middle with pictures of dustbins (garbage cans for non-UK readers) overflowing with all the usual stuff. On the left, before LV, we see solo TV dinner boxes by the dozen, cans of diet soda with sticky contents dribbling down the side of the bin, the remains of a packet of sliced bread and a half dozen drooping daffodils. The bin on the right, LV experience in full tilt, was overflowing with uncorked bottles of Moet and Chandon champagne and chateau Bordeaux wine, a Harrod’s food hall carrier bag with opened, empty cans (precise contents unknown but the point is made) and a perky single rose adorning the collection of weekend toss outs. They had me at the Moet and Chandon. (Speaking of champagne and LV: See the blog: Champagne, Cindy and One Pound at the Door.)

There was a bit of member vetting but it wasn’t a huge deal. I went along to the Grosvenor Hotel at Victoria station, listened to a short presentation, then small breakout groups chatted with existing members. I was in on the first round. Afterwards everyone adjourned to the Shakespeare pub across from the station. (Still there.) The process was pretty easy and it struck me this was a good way to meet women new to London or were looking to extend their social circle. So, I volunteered as the breakout group moderator a few times. I don’t recall anyone I met from the breakouts, but I started to jot down the names of people I met and a short description, so I could greet them by name if I saw them again. Not so much a little black book, but a name reminder: Sammy: ex-army, short ginger hair, tennis man. Theresa: waist length hair, freckles, into goblins and spirit life things.

The real fun began with the arrival of the first magazine in the post. This was a huge deal. My social schedule for the next month was in those pages, and it was crammed. Something everyday and multiple events per day if you had the energy, and I did.

The next few years were my Swinging 60’s. Breathtaking times of wonderful discovery. Days and years of meeting new people and exploring fresh neighborhoods of London. Astonishing times, and I wouldn’t have missed it for the world.

Keith Howard

Comments are welcome below.

If you were in the LV circle in the 1970’s, I would love to hear your memories and post them for others to enjoy.