alan-brown-paintings

The Nurse is amused to read today’s Daily Mail story about stroke victim Alan Brown.

Alan recovered from 16 hours of surgery only to discover a completely new talent. Suddenly he’s painting like a man possessed, well enough to pass a fine art degree. Before his operation he could barely draw a stick man.

Some people, as The Nurse knows very well from decades here in prison, aren’t so lucky.

Take Simon, the guy three cells down. He was a Fund Manager with a massive gaff in central London, a trophy wife and two nice kids in public school before he was clonked on the head by a passing felon toting half a brick.

His brain injury left him completely unable to resist draping himself from head to toe in bling, designer frocks and Jimmy Choos. Harmless in itself. But the police took a very dim view when he took to accosting small boys outside the Co-Op in Mayfair, claiming to be their Mummy.

Others are more fortunate. Wayne in cell seventy six arrived here convicted of mass murder, kidnapping, arson and starting – single handedly – several vicious wars in lesser known African countries. A proper nutter who smelled like a stoat. Gimlet eyes, permantly moist palms and an unfortunate twitch. The type of bloke who’d cut your goolies off for a quid, never mind sell his granny.

A judicious yet wholly experimental bash on the head by The Nurse soon sorted him out. These days we call him Saint Wayne. He’s helpful, self effacing and immaculately polite. Since his ‘illness’ he’s developed a talent for acting out every single episode of Shameless, word perfect, which makes him a popular chap. And, best of all, when The Nurse and her fellow inmates get bored he lets them crucify him. He says he likes it.