


He’d take the 12 or 68 here, then get the Tube into town. “Pubs in Soho had sawdust on the floor…” He stops himself. “I’m really sounding about 100, aren’t I? But they did! There were girls in raincoats modelling upstairs. It’s not what it is today,” the 56-year-old shrugs. Galliano felt at home in Soho’s theatrical nightlife, worlds away from the part of town where he’d spent his childhood.



