Posts Tagged ‘obituary’

I was sorry to hear that Beryl Cook had passed away today, at the age of 81. I really do think people will look back and recognise her as one of the great British artists of the 20th century. I loved her affection for her subjects, her mischievousness and the joie de vivre that was so apparent in her paintings of ordinary people doing ordinary things.

Quite why so many in the art establishment dismissed her work and placed her in the same category as Jack Vettriano is beyond me; Vettriano’s work is soul-less and clinically commercial, whereas Beryl Cook’s work was quite the opposite. And I say that as someone with a Fine Art education who frequently stands stroking his chin at ‘pretentious’ exhibitions. Rest in peace Beryl.

RIP James Brown, the Godfather of Soul.

(posted as I have my pre-pressie-opening coffee - Happy Christmas.)

And it’s good night from him…

Sadly comedy legend Ronnie Barker has died at the age of 76.

Very sorry to hear that Mo Mowlam has died at the age of 55. She’s one of the few politicians I had any time or respect for - anyone that tells Ian Paisley to “fuck off” can’t be bad. Hardworking, intelligent, honest and funny. A real loss. RIP Mo.

Sad news: Hunter S Thompson has died from a self-inflicted gunshot.

I was actually planning to resume posting here this week anyway, but John Peel’s passing has forced my hand rather; I certainly can’t let it his death go unmentioned.

I started listening to John Peel in about 1987, sometimes as I did my school homework, or more usually lying in bed in the dark late at night. He broadened my musical horizons no end, and without him I’d probably never have got to hear loads of great (and no-so-great, but interesting nevertheless) music. It was John Peel that introduced me to the Wedding Present, Half-Man Half-Biscuit, The Smiths, Jesus & Mary Chain, The Pixies, Cocteau Twins, Big Black, and the Orb, to name but a few.

His shows were the perfect antidote to all the commercialised crap played by cheesey Radio 1 DJs less than half his age. I thought one of the tributes left on the BBC site put it quite well:

Having John Peel operating on Radio 1 was like having Naom Chomsky operating in the White House.

But it wasn’t just the wonderfully eclectic range of music he championed that made him so special though; his genuine warmth, passion and dry, self-deprecating humour made listening to his shows feel as though I was listening to a good mate. Late nights won’t be the same without John Peel playing some Icelandic thrash metal at the wrong speed, and Saturday mornings certainly won’t seem right without his Home Truths.

I can’t remember ever feeling this upset about the death of someone I never knew before - my heart goes out to Sheila and the rest of his family and friends. The most important person in British music has died, and the radio will never be the same again. RIP.

Last Monday night I got a call to say my 90-year old grandmother had been taken into hospital with an aortic aneurysm, and wasn’t expected to last the night. I drove back to Wales the next morning to find that she was still hanging-on, despite the doctors having given her only an hour or two to live. Although dosed up with drugs, she had quite a few lucid moments, and was able to say goodbye to the family gathered at her bedside, even managing to make a few jokes. In the end she lasted until Thursday evening — in some ways it came as a relief when she finally passed away, as we didn’t want her to suffer any more (as she put it at one point, “I just wish there was a big departure button…”).

My gran had had a pretty goood innings really — 90’s a decent age in anyone’s book — and thankfully she retained her dignity and self-respect right up to the end; she still had all her marbles about her, and was able to look after herself, in her own home. And when she died, it was relatively painless and quick, with her family around her. So although I’m very sad, I guess that’s far better than a long, drawn-out, painful illness or years of suffering from senile dementia.

When I think back on my gran’s life, it makes me realise how remarkable she was, and how lucky I was to have had her for a grandmother. Like most people of her generation, she certainly didn’t have it easy — her mother died when she was 12, and she had to leave home to work at 14 to help her father support her numerous younger siblings. Later in her life, she became a Justice of the Peace, and also divorced her abusive husband, at a time when that was still pretty taboo. She took me and my mum in when my parents split up, and was happy to care for me when my mum was working. When gran developed skin cancer about ten years ago, she had to have about 70 stitches in her forehead after having a triangle of skin removed (the doctors put it down to her love of cycling when she was younger), but took it in her stride — I remember visiting her in hospital, and she was far more interested telling me about the fellow patient who’d had his thumb replaced by his big toe!

Despite the lack of a formal education, my gran had one of the sharpest minds of anyone I’ve known, and was extremely knowledgeable and well-read (she put me on to many good books); I spent hours conversing with her over the years, on all sorts of subjects, and I learnt so much. I could talk to her about anything — she never rushed to judge, only to help. Her views on philosophy, politics and society were all injected with the same kindness and compassion that she exhibited to people throughout her life. And she was an evil Scrabble player.

I’ll miss my gran so much, as will all her children and grandchildren, but with the life she’s had, I think she’s earned a rest. Bless her.

According to reports, it seems that Daniel Pearl, the poor WSJ journalist kidnapped in Pakistan a month ago, has been executed. His wife is 6 months pregnant. Utterly senseless.

In addition, sadly actor John Thaw has died at the age of 60. He was the star of many great TV series, but I’ll best remember him for his role in The Sweeney. He made Detective Inspector Jack Regan the hardest and coolest of all the 1970s cops (on either side of the Atlantic). He also did a lot to popularise the phrases “You’re nicked, you slag!” and “Kick him!“. RIP.

On a more-annoying-than-sad note, this evening I discovered that I had been the victim of giant, hungry moths. I grabbed my favourite pair of funky checked trousers out of the cupboard ready for this weekend, only to discover there were literally dozens of holes all over them - clearly the work of evil fluttery things with an appetite for wool. Bollocks! Cost me 80 quid too. Never really thought of moths doing that — sure, I knew in ‘the olden days’ people used to have mothballs in their wardrobes, but thought it was a thing of the past… Don’t know why… did I think that moths’ tastes would have changed or something? Not a mistake I will make again — henceforth, my garments will be protected by the strongest, nastiest pesticides I can legally get my hands on…

This is my last entry for a few days, as I’m off to Sheffield on Friday. My hangover and I will probably be returning to London on Sunday night. If you’re interested, I have decided on my back velvet flares, and sexy polyester shirt… will probably return with photographic evidence.