Falling & Laughing: The Restoration of Edwyn Collins
Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub
reaction. ‘It feels so safe here, I know, but there is no way we would be moving him out if he needed to be here, I promise. He’s a success story for us. We’ve been losing a lot of people recently. He’s done brilliantly.’ Then he leans over Edwyn and says, ‘We can’t keep you here any longer, mate, you’re doing too well. I know you probably think that’s mad, cos you feel like shit, but honestly it’s true. We’ll miss you, Edwyn.’ Edwyn smiles wanly at him. What a pro. But Edwyn is certainly not so
unfortunately left him with a racist streak. Not virulent – the casual variety, but eye-watering nonetheless. He had worked in a factory off the A4 for donkeys’ years and, an unmarried man, was hugely attached to his factory and workmates. And Mark, the same age as me, forty-seven, was an accountant who used to work for the MOD. He was a Led Zeppelin aficionado, obsessive even, and had named his first son after Jimmy Page. His second little boy was only four or five and was missing his dad.
it was too low and getting back up would involve a deviation from his prescribed standing-up routine. The occupational therapists were to organise the local social services team to fit a cage around the loo, put my lovely new sofas (bought just before Edwyn’s illness) up on blocks and generally turn the house into a nursing home. My tongue was shortening by the day I was biting it so much. Still, I had the comfort of knowing that unless I harried and harassed, the chances of the local social
the way. Most of the work had happened at night time. They were past masters at what they did and required no interference from me or Hazel, or the ‘office girls’, as Seb archly referred to us. He used to leave us notes on the desk from the night before: ‘Office girls, need ink for the printer.’ ‘Office girls, so and so phoned, re such and such. Get back to him. Now please.’ ‘Office girls, blah blah not happy about quote. THIS WILL NOT DO!’ Since Edwyn had fallen ill the funny studio rhythm
of the paparazzi are hyperventilating for Sophie Ellis Bextor who’s with her husband, the little guy from The Feeling (they ask him to duck out of the pictures, which he obligingly does). She’s working it with the calm expertise that comes with great experience. Edwyn, meantime, is allowed to pass unmolested by recognition until just towards the end of the line when a lone voice is heard: ‘That’s Edwyn Collins.’ ‘Who?’ Mutter, mutter … ‘Edwyn, Edwyn, this way mate…over here, to your right