My rating: 3 of 5 stars
Back in the hirsute Seventies as a callow youth, when I first read about this hippie Robin Hood, I considered him to be a hero – the archetypal rebel without a cause, cocking a snook at the ‘Establishment.’ Those were the Mary-Jane-suffused days of Hair and Woodstock, Lucy ruled the Skies (skies that were kissed by Jimi Hendrix) with Diamonds, deaf, dumb and blind Tommy played Who’s Pin Ball and we ‘freaked out.’ Now weary with years of cynicism behind me, I find the author to be a mere on-and-off junkie, compulsive thief and regular jailbird
Kenny Wisdom spent seven months without bail in that cramped moss-ridden-rat-infested-syphilitic-conjunctivitic-tuberculous-marasmic-anaemic-choreal-cancerous-scabied-ringwormed-rotten-crippling-languishing-ulcerated-septic dungeon of bronchopneumonia…The hippie ethos was embodied in the nihilistic manifesto of The Hun
Give up jobs. Be with people. Defend against property
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