They say that there is nothing new in fashion. Things just go round and round for another lap.

Tight trousers, baggy trousers, pink, blue, short or long. Round and round it goes.

I hear tales of young children who just have to wear the latest thing in trainers or hoodies, and heaven forbid the thought of having to use last year’s mobile phone.

In my day, fashion was dictated by what was on offer at the nearest jumble sale, or what had been handed down by an older brother or cousin who had grown a few inches.

Lads of my age wore short pants until they were at least 11 or 12 years old and I well remember my first outing in ’longies’.

It was also my first day at Ballakermeen High School. The dreaded cry of ’Cowin’s been dropped’ that we all had to face, wasn’t made any easier by the fact that we were also meeting our new classmates for the first time. The boys from Demesne Road were to meet the rest of the world.

The majority of Demesne Road kids came from what I suppose we would have to say were the tougher parts of Douglas.

For example Lord Street, the North and South Quays and of course, Pulrose. By comparison, the other Douglas junior school, Murray’s Road, was where the posh kids came from.

For us, Ballakermeen was the great leveller. Castle Rushen High School and Ramsey Grammar School catered for the Northern and Southern scholars, and for them there was little change. But for the Douglas gang it was the first time that we realised that there really was life beyond Braddan Bridge. The Peel boys.

Their reputation preceded them. I don’t know what we had expected, but whatever it was, it didn’t happen.

For a start, we all looked the same. We all had to wear school uniform and we all looked alike. The blazers, shirts and ties were one thing, but I never had much time for that school cap.

And that is what made the difference. No, not the school cap, the uniform. I think that deep down we are tribal.

We feel more comfortable if we stick together. There is safety in numbers and if we look alike we’re in the same tribe.

As far as my contemporaries were concerned, I think that the first stirrings of thoughts about fashion was in the mid 1950s when Bill Haley took over from Pat Boone. Rock and Roll brought us drain pipe trousers, winkle picker shoes and hairstyles. We couldn’t afford the trousers and the shoes but all that a DIY hairstyle cost was a couple of weeks waiting for it to grow.

I suppose that the first waves of an overall ’new look’ would be made by the teddy boys and girls.

My generation has survived many changes in style and fashion. Just dig out some of those old wedding photos or holiday snaps and take a look.

And what about those annual dinner dances? Pages and pages in the local paper of best suits, wide ties and long frocks sitting at long tables in long gone hotels. Hotels such as the Villiers, the Peveril and the Metropole.

Because we live on an island with a small population, many things just pass us by. We were barely touched by the mods and rockers and the only time that I spotted a goth on the island, was about two years ago. There were two of them on the Port Erin to Douglas bus and looked very pale.

But there is one fashion accessory which has definitely been around longer than any other. It is the tattoo.

Prehistoric man, or so I am told, used to paint his body with woad. Now whether or not this was the forerunner of modern tattooing I cannot say, but everything has to start somewhere, and tattoos do seem to be on the up and up, (and everywhere else).

Where will it all end. Are we going full circle?

Can you still buy woad?