At almost every gig, and in almost every record shop, you'll find the old hippie. Flicking through dog-eared copies of Making Waves by Focus and Flying Teapot by Gong, the hippie will occasionally raise a weary head and jangle the beads around his head in disapproval at just about anything modern. Raised on psychedelia, cutting his teeth on prog, this hippie longs for the halcyon days when bands wore their hair long and their guitar solos even longer.

Often found dressed in stonewashed demin, unruly hair and tie-dye tees, the hippie can sometimes be seen at gigs, wasted on cheap cider, informing anyone who will listen that he can still rock it with the best of them. Sadly for the hippie, he peaks at around 10pm, leaving the young whippersnappers taking the piss and partying on 'til dawn. One lift home off the wife and a Toblerone later, and it's back to weariness for the old boy.

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