Ian, I still remain in shell-shocked denial at the news of your passing. It somehow seems as if it will never feel true.


Even though our worlds drifted apart, my formative past is forever tethered to the wonderful memories that we had together growing up as toddlers, children and young teenagers with your Mum, Dad and Sister who I will always consider my 2nd family. Heady, endless summers playing in your garden on pogo sticks and space hoppers, going on days out, swimming at Pingles and going on that big family holiday in that amazing spanish Villa with our own pool.


Being nearly a year older than me I remember you teaching me chess sat at your dining table and sometimes letting me win like a big brother might. I remember you introducing me to recordings of Monty Python records on your bedroom tape deck (keeping it quiet when it got sweary so your mum and dad wouldn't hear). All whilst we spent hours on end loading games up on your Commodore 64 sometimes just to listen to the awesome chip music, but also to take on another wave of Jeff Minter's Mutant Camels.


Watching you play the drums was always a constant form of wonder to me.  I feel privileged to have seen you grow from a childish beginner to an accomplished and respected professional musician, fully supported and always encouraged by your family at home despite the obvious imposition of your cacophonic practicing in the spare room. For years after and to this day, every time I amateurishly dabble with keyboards, synths and drum patterns I think of you showing me an early drum machine in the 80s (Yamaha I think) , both of us wondering if there would ever be a future for real live music. Thankfully there was. And you proved it.


I'm so sorry that we won't get a chance to sit down and play chess again, as old men reminiscing about our younger days. The sudden, unjust and callous nature of your passing, just days after turning 50 is a brutal reminder how fragile life can be. For now I will have to shoulder this devastating sorrow, shared as it is with the hundreds of others whose lives you touched, until it is replaced with quiet gratitude for ever having the good fortune to have known you. I will carry your memory with me, always.


Goodnight Ian. Thank you for being like the big brother I never had. Until we meet again.