Word: soho
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...Beatles), the foppish Mods and sullen Rockers like nothing better than to crack one another's skulls. Two mass bashes over the Easter and Whitsuntide weekends had only whetted the teen sects' appetites for more, as excited word spread from London's Mecca Ballrooms and myriad Soho record clubs that Hastings would be the smart place to be on the long three-day Bank Holiday weekend at the beginning of August...
...sleazy lower reaches of Soho and Netting Hill, scores of rouged recruits have joined London's army of prostitutes. In hip-tight skirts and needle heels, the tyros wiggle from drinking club to strip joint brazenly soliciting customers. But whenever a man shows interest, the girls identify themselves as policewomen and, flashing photographs of a pinched-looking brunette, inquire with sudden crispness: "Have you seen this woman recently...
Where to go for a giggle? In the teen joints of Soho, the word went out: make it Clacton. Like a flock of noisy starlings, more than 1,000 youths buzzed into the dismal North Sea resort for Britain's four-day Easter holiday. The weather was foul-and so, Clactonians decided, were their visitors. Most of the invaders "slept rough" on the beach, warmed only by their "birds" (girl friends) and quantities of "purple hearts" (goofballs). Inevitably, the giggling had to stop, for Clacton's invaders belonged to London's two hostile teen cults: the "Mods...
Wood-Notes Wild. On that morsel of plot Novelist Dundy drapes copious flimflammery about father figures and love-hate syndromes that no one could possibly take seriously. Happily, however, the pursuit of C. D. ("Seedy") McKee brings Honey Flood face to face with stately homes and Soho nightspots, London fogs and Mayfair mayhem. She finds herself at war with the whole English race. It is a form of infighting of which Elaine Dundy is plainly a well-scarred veteran. Before she is through, any true-blue U.S. reader is likely to feel that even a money-mad American would...
...inspired." There was no doubt about the Labor delegates' mood as they bellowed The Red Flag ("Come dungeon dark or gallows grim/ This song shall be our parting hymn") and hit the road to Jerusalem. The wind of change from Scarborough was infectious. "Me vote Tory?" exclaimed one Soho pub pundit. "That would be like Noah picketing the flood...