At Flower Power when the chorus kicks in a canon filled with confetti and gold glitter explodes from the stage, covering the dancers below. The revellers look up to see peace signs and hearts suspended from the ceiling and as small pieces of magic dust float down, they all know that they are inside the snow globe of happiness. Away from monotony and dogma they twist and twirl encouraged by the sound of the sixties.
Love is in the air, love is in the air
I watch elated. The disco lights bounce off my bejewelled face. I look at the beaming faces of the revellers and know there is no place for sadness here on the White Island. The canons erupt again and again and I am surrounded by gold glitter; but I am different to the others, this is what I am used to, gold glitter is my way of life.