Diary: My Stroke 'Journey'

Art gave Billy Mann a chance to tell the story of his stroke in an unusual and often graphic way

My annual visit to the National Hospital of Neurology and Neurosurgery in Queen Square, London, to deliver some macaroons and Vin Santo to the therapy team for Christmas got me feeling sentimental. I realised that visiting the Neuro Rehabilitation Unit (NRU) on the second floor has become like returning to your old school. Memories come flooding back. Seeing the patients travelling the same rocky road I did four years ago is a wrench, riddled with pain but saved by an overwhelming sense of hope. So much happened here for me. It is where my life was put back together. It was a rebirth. So, as naff as that sounds, I feel quite attached to the place and to the people who helped me during my two-month stay.

Most of them have moved on, but Anne Fleming, who dealt with social work issues, was still there and full of good spirit and a still unfeasibly straight fringe. I deposited the festive goodies with her, asked her to pass on my best wishes to anyone who might remember me and put in a plug for an exhibition of paintings by survivors of brain injury from Headway East London art studio, Submit To Love.

It wasn't such a shameless plug since I have a series of five paintings included in the exhibition depicting my 'stroke journey', and as already stated, NRU played a key part in that. Each of my paintings includes a hand-written paragraph describing the five 'chapters' of the past four years, from the moment of the stroke to my life as it is today.

The first, 'Surrender' attempts to illustrate the period from the initial trauma to when I went into surgery.

The second picture, 'Oblivion', is all about what happened in surgery.

The third, 'Confusion', examines what happened after surgery when I was in and out of ITU and then on the stroke ward.


The fourth painting in the series, 'Survival', covers the sink-or-swim experience of my stay in NRU, where the chance to start again kicks into action.

And the final picture, 'Release', reflects on my life since discharge from hospital in February 2013 and the shape it has taken since then.


I could bang on endlessly about these pictures and their meaning, but the blunt truth is that, once they were finished, I was glad to see the back of them. I was bored with myself, and right now I don't care if I never see them again. Sometimes the right thing to do is to simply let go of what was and what happened. Strange, though, I can't imagine losing the tiny bit of love I feel whenever I visit the National hospital in Queen Square, and long may the macaroon continue to be delivered.

The exhibition of paintings by members of Headway East London is at Stratford Circus Arts Centre, London, until 23 February 2017.

Picture: Steven Gerard

Photo/text mash-up madness for Instagram. Text stolen from fashion editor Jess Cartner-Morley, the Guardian.

Quote: Theresa and Boris

Diary: Uncommon councillors

Somebody said something interesting, eventually

Subject Councillors answer residents' questions
Date Tuesday 29 November, 2016, 19.30h
Location Downstairs, beneath the chess players, Golden Lane Estate community centre

Stanley Cohen House with its Grade II-listed "plastic bags"

Alderman Graves (he is the Big Hat in the posse of our Elected Representatives) began by asking how news of this meeting got around the estate. Did we hear about it via email, paper mail or by some other route such as noticeboards? He soon got the message that things could be improved in that regard before Lee Millam (Great Arthur House) stepped in with an urgent moan about the workmen doing the windows at Great Arthur. 

What were they playing at? Nothing, seemed to be the answer. Drinking tea, rolling fags, discussing whether the universe was infinite or not. Anything but fixing the bloody windows. The Alderman started to take on the ruddy complexion of a man who'd just realised that leaving his new golf clubs in the E-type was probably not such a good idea. One of the other councillors (a lone woman among six men) said something along the lines of "we hear what you're saying", which I'm not sure was the answer Mr Millam was looking for.

The subject moved on in a roundabout way to social housing, right-to-buy, who pays for what, how the housing stock is protected from predatory speculators in the age of Materialism Gone Mad, and the thorny issue of numbers of properties built versus the location of said properties. 

Roughly speaking, at the core of this is whether, for the same money, to build 100 new residential properties in the centre of Cripplegate, or else to build 300 dwellings four miles outside of it. These are the Big Questions those at the Corpy agonise over every minute of their lives, and especially during toilet breaks. Add into this equation a heavy shot of central-government busy-bodying and it's headaches all round. 

Councillor Gareth Moore (he's our guy off the estate) raised some characteristically realist points and explained that it is in the DNA of the Corpy to skew all decision-making towards business and commerce (my words), and that the planning protocols that apply for commercial projects differ entirely from those that apply to residential stuff. My understanding from what he said was that the Planning Committee on the council was overegged with expertise in the commercial field, but very light on expertise in the residential area. This has resulted in no end of bureaucratic constipation for residential matters, but was now being corrected by someone new in charge of things.

Then came an interesting bit, and it came from Alderman Graves, who was by now warming to the occasion and looking a little less likely to burst a blood vessel. It was triggered by Paul Lincoln (Basterfield House), who said that Barbican residents have special status within the Corpy - their very own committee - whereas Golden Lane is some kind of poor relation, forever in receipt of second-hand clothes. Gravesie, as I was now calling him (to myself), put on his 'thinking-cap' face and said that the way forward might be to start up a Golden Lane Working Party. To my ears this sounded like progress, and even the other assembled councillors (who all sit in a row, looking as if they are waiting to be called into the head teacher's office) showed signs of resurrection.

The Aderman's suggestion was not an opportunity to be missed, and after a brief diversion into drains, insurance and a potent question from myself about the poor lighting around the estate, Sue Pearson (Hatfield House) whose middle name is Persistence, raised her hand. Were the assembled officers aware of the newfound love affair between Golden Lane residents and the Corpy, instigated by projects such as the redevelopment of the community centre, the Lord Mayor's float and an overall softening of behavioural tones. After a massive whinge about the "plastic bags" still stuck on the end of Stanley Cohen House, she spoke about evolving plans to find a robust yet sustainable management model for when the community centre is refurbed and reopened. Magically, she screwed a pledge of support from each of the honourable members of Death Row and everybody skipped off home to watch Jordan Banjo getting evicted from I'm a Celebrity...Get Me Out of Here!

Happy days.