![]() ![]() She also talks to her floral bedspread and her TV remote (“Oh the haughtiness of a handheld device!”). As it turns out, Smith really is the kind of woman who talks to her cats. ![]() I occasionally wondered what had happened to that all-powerful rock goddess as I meandered through her memoir. ![]() Even when she tripped and fell on her backside, she just got up and snarled: “I don’t care – I’m an animal!” There she was on the Pyramid stage – with her unkempt grey hair and crow’s feet, looking for all the world like the kind of ageing lady who talks to her cats – radiating anarchic energy, urging us all to see things differently, and demonstrating just how kick-ass a woman in her late 60s can be. I feel like that about Patti Smith’s performance at Glastonbury this summer. A mid all the hideous things going on in the world, I’m always grateful for something that reminds me now is a great time to be alive. ![]()
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