A Penchant for Ponchos

So at a rough guess the Machine was bought when I was nine years old. What was I wearing aged nine? Pixie boots? Ra ra skirts? Nah. All I ever wanted to wear was my tartan poncho, a bizarre marriage of Peru and Scotland in glaring red and green with a white tassled fringe. I don't know which whisky-sozzled llama it originated from, but I adored it, and wore it over everything, though mainly over my beloved horizontal rainbow striped skirt.
As you can tell, I wasn't the most fashionable child; I just wore what I felt comfortable in. Even now I don't really 'get' fashion, but what I wear tends to be a little less Highland Andes, a little more Topshop.
Still, I mourn that poncho. Where was it for the big poncho revival of 2004? And for my pilgrimage to South America in 2008? Thankfully the poncho gap in my life was plugged by a sisterly gift of an alpaca wool poncho with an alpaca motif that was possibly even hand woven by a herd of alpacas squiffy on Scotch.