It’s a god-awful small affair, and the world is poorer for it.

When I was about 6 or 7, my dad’s dad, grandad Ray, sat me down in front of a film to keep me entertained for an hour or so. And I never thanked him for showing me The Labyrinth.

I was brought up with a variety of music and films, everything from the standard eras and few others. Classical, pop (at the time), a bit of rock, everything. But my grandad showed me the Labyrinth and thus started a beautiful friendship with David Bowie that lasted until this morning, when one of my co-workers told me of David Bowies death, and I felt a little more of the magic of the world fade away.

It has been rightfully pointed out by the nice people at that Mr Bowie has not in fact died, but has actually gone home. He visited this planet for a short while, just 69 years to make sure we didn’t collapse under the weight of our worries. He emerged, all sexy to the women and confusing to the men, to change the make-up covered face of music forever. And I for one am so happy I got to share the planet and enjoy his music for a short time.

Despite my co-workers trying to convince me his music was crap and The Labyrinth was shit, I stuck to my guns and refused to accept their statements, so I’m even more popular than I was last week, but I don’t care. I know there’s probably life on Mars, I know there’s scary monsters and super freaks out there, and when the wind blows I will forever be the rebel rebel who adored his work.

Thank you grandad, I know it’s too late now but I did appreciate it, and thank you dad for showing me more styles of music than a lot of other people must hear. Thank you to my friends who know me, and thank you, most of all, to David Bowie himself for showing us a whole new world of amazing.


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