OCCUPIED COUNTRY

One Day Without You

So that great listing galleon of a man has finally accepted the inevitable, had one last tipple, written one last heart-wrenchingly beautiful masterpiece, tucked into one last 'full Irish' and died an old man's death. Pneumonia I believe. Well I can relate to that. It has been killing folk who would've normally died many years older for more years than I care to remember.

A completely prosaic death for a bloke who adored living 'outside the system'. A bloke who rejected 'normality (whatever that is!) A bloke who ticked every Bohemian checklist going. A bon vivant outsider who could document the stresses and strains of life that the rest of us could recognise. A Rock 'n' Roller.

Well I'm sorry John (Iain actually) but that wasn't a Rock 'n Roll death. Not a car crash. Not a plane crash. Not a drugs overdose. Not even an accident as a result of indulging in some sado-masochistic sexual fantasy. Nah, not you, you rebel. Pneumonia in some impersonal block, with a weeping leg, soiled sheets and a nurse who probably couldn't give a fuck. A normal death.

I tell who will be 'giving a fuck' though John, all those labels you lent your name to. All those bootleggers who sat on their goods knowing that you would probably shuffle long before they did. Money in the bank they reasoned and now their ship has come in.

But in spite – no, probably because of all that, I just couldn't love you more.

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In his last interview which you can read here, he was asked what life had taught him. He answered:

“It's taught me two things. One is that I honestly believe no man who has ever lived has had more fun than me. The second is that living full on is the best fucking way to do it and I would absolutely do it all again in a fucking moment!”

Bravado? Or honesty? Well it doesn't matter now does it? He's just carbon. Carbon without the guitar skills and raw musical honesty. Just a cadaver lay in some Irish morgue waiting for the final rituals. Just a memory.

But what beautiful memories.