In nineteen sixty seven
My idea of Heaven
Was the Portabella Road.
I wore an Afghan coat,
An antique matchbox at my throat.
I thought I was La De la Mode!

Jeans revealed a slender shape,
During this escape
From office hours,
Dreaming with antiques
With all the sixties freaks
I searched the stalls in
Sunshine and in showers.

Sometimes an item blazed
As a must have
That soon fazed.
The excitement of the time
Was quite unique.
The buzz of those around
The pubs that could be found
Where people spilled out on the
Pavement every week.

Oh! I loved the Portabella
But never once picked up a fellah
For I was Av en guard and free.
But now that I am old,
The silver matchbox long since sold
Portabella leaves a blissful


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