(Continued) so, now that I’m finally starting to recover, I look around, survey the damage.
Not being able to write – not even my daily journal – left me feeling pretty down.
It’s miserable, being unable to communicate. Like a sabre-toothed motor neurone disease, a working mind trapped in a rotting, ancient body with nothing but the smell of my carcass deteriorating to keep me company.
And I’m supposed to have ‘1919 (outside)’ ready to go next month. Oh well.
So, as of thursday, I’ve got back into my daily journal. My handwriting’s terrible, my focus smeared and degraded, but I’m at least digging my heels in and starting the fightback.
On a more positive note, the last week’s seen me absorbing loads of tv, movies, docunentaries ‘n’ shit.
One of which was, ‘telstar: the joe meek story, which I think has to have been the jewel in the crown.
An incredible cast (kevin spacey AND james corden – I’m not making this up!) And a (to me, anyhoo) painfully familliar story of meek’s genius and downfall between 1961 and 1967.
I suppose joe meek’s always resonated with me as I moved to scotland from south wales in november of 1966. Imagine a schoolboy uncle bryn from gavin and stacey photoshopped into ‘trainspotting’.
Meek’s death in february of 1967 coincides with me arriving in this country and suddenly having a girl’s name.
I was named – fore and aft – after my paternal grandfather. And he (I’m told) battered my gran, so it seems particularly unfair that his namesake was taunted for unmanliness along gender lines!

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