THE BOOK BY IT’S COVER:
Trainspotting crew transmit infectious laughter on radio waves.
Breakfast Show lifts a nation, recalling 1996, when I was a no hope
drunk, blacked out alone in a Soho flat, hoping to die in my sleep
as the world witnessed our star on the rise.
2017 & still alive, replete with hope, spooning porridge into the
morning body. Time to don suit & tie & bury a friend who always turned
the light on every time mine went out.
We never discussed music, didn’t want to test our friendship.
He worked in an office, clean-cut, suited & booted, I was in a band
for god’s sake, with notoriously weird taste.
Now I’m sat here in church, freezing my arse, the heats been on for
hours, but off for Three Hundred years. His favourite music is playing
as mourners file in. The woman next to me leans over, says,
“This is weird music to play at a funeral!”
But I’m grinning,
“This is one of my favourite bands since I was a little kid!”