After he got better, he went into what he likes to call a “senior depression”. We talk through the serving hatch between the living room and kitchen as he makes two cups of milky filter coffee. Folk heroes, in a way: for every Townshend there is your Otway or John Cooper Clarke. He represents a whole world of jobbing musicians of the Seventies and Eighties who now live in modest terraced houses in Brighton, or Bournemouth, or Hove, still playing in bands, weathering the periods of quiet, riding the waves of interest when they come again. Wilko is the kind of figure the British rock press has always favoured above the big draw. He gets on with Van Morrison – though he must be the only person in the world who does. He has shaken Pete Townshend’s hand in the past, he tells me he’s supposed to be touring with the Who next year. He barely knows Status Quo, with whom he has just done an arena tour – though he has a soft spot for their song “Pictures of Matchstick Men” because it was big when he got married 47 years ago. He was a bit of a fish out of water among the other old rockers. A few weeks back, Wilko and his Mercedes turned up at a music awards ceremony that, he tells me, had particularly naff goody bags. “They call it the Mercedes,” he says, lifting up his T-shirt and showing me a scar a foot long that forks out on either side, just like the logo. Above all, Wilko’s was a story about a man’s ability finally to appreciate his time on earth precisely because he knows it’s going to end. It was a story about the morbid appeal of watching someone fade away in real time: once the stuff of sci-fi films, then of Jade Goody and Clive James, who has described his prolonged farewell as embarrassing. It was a story about someone having faith in science – too much faith, as it turned out – and about a person’s right to die as they want. Wilko’s tale was bigger than a soap opera, though. The fan who saved your life is called Charlie Chan. You go in to hospital flanked by your best friend (a boxer) and a Japanese lady, of whom more later. Then an amateur rock photographer, who just happens to be an oncologist, is watching you at one of your farewell gigs, gets backstage and tells you that if you really had what they said you have, you’d be flat on your back by now. The hit album with Roger Daltrey, the world tours and more press than he’d had since 1977. The full-on career revival that followed. The cancer diagnosis, the decision not to treat it, the public farewell. His was a story so improbable, he tells me, it would have been rejected by publishers if it were a novel, “then sent to a soap opera, and they wouldn’t want it either”. Science and Technical Research and Development.Infrastructure Management - Transport, Utilities.Information Services, Statistics, Records, Archives.Information and Communications Technology.HR, Training and Organisational Development.Health - Medical and Nursing Management. Facility / Grounds Management and Maintenance.
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