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Thursday 15th January 2009

(bet this isn't the only blog with THAT title today...)

Just checking my emails and such like on the way to bed, and I discover that Patrick McGoohan's gone and died.  Genuinely bummed out, although he did get a fairly decent innings and remained a respected actor (perhaps the very definition of a "cult figure", to use a tiresome but just for once entirely appropriate term) right until the end, even enjoying a bit of a career renaissance in the last decade or so, ever since Mad Mel Gibson, by all accounts almost as big a Prisoner nerd as myself, got him in to play Proud Edward himself in Braveheart. 

Hardly a Heath/River situation then, but the thing is, I devoted a fair stretch of my teenage years to The Prisoner; it's the most immersed in fandom I've ever been - oh yeah, the whole nine yards: week-long conventions in Portmeirion, costumed re-enactments of the chess game on the lawn, making spoof episodes on ropey home video with my pals (that took a whole bloody year - this is the mid 80s we're talking about), going to Appreciation Society AGMs, contributing to fanzines, we're talking straight through Comic Book Guy and out the other side hardcore nerdment, and I loved it.  It got me through what might otherwise have been an even more bewildering phase of what for want of a better word we'll call my "development", it gave me a love for fannishness in general which has stayed with me ever since and informed a lot of my work, it even got me my first girlfriend, for crying out loud.

So reading of Ol' Paddy McGoo's passing hits home, 'cos it kind of feels like a big chunk of my adolescence has gone with him.




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