February 22nd

Constant to-ing and fro-ing with the agency. Little changes here and there. I mix all the music back into the pictures and send movie files. It makes life a lot easier.

I had promised to take Django out on one day of his half term holiday, but have been so snowed under that it has been impossible. Today, in spite of deadlines, I take him for lunch at the Wimpy. He loves it there. Sadly this is largely due to the free bag of cheaply made crap (and no that's not the food I'm referring to) at the end of the meal. It makes him happy though and does no harm in moderation I reckon.

Come back and head straight out to the studio. A couple more changes prior to a meeting tomorrow and then another job comes in for Alton Towers-!!

Decide to work some more tonight after the kids are in bed.

The phone rang as I was reading Django a story a little later.

When I got down stairs Amanda told me it was Margie.

I called her straight back.

It was midday in Los Angeles and Ian had died that morning.


She told me how much I had meant to Ian and that she had read my letter before he went to sleep the previous night.

She said it had made him cry and laugh. the latter being something he hadn't done in some time.

I said that I would phone some people and tell the sad news. I told her that I hadn't wanted to post my mail onto the guest book of their site and it was personal.

As it has now been digested personally and and Ian is, wherever he is (with Boz hopefully) I will share it with whoever might be interested. It went like this:

Dear Margie,

For the past few days I have been logging on the the Status site every couple of hours.
I have been doing this with a combination of hope and dread.
I read you recent comment this morning.
I pride myself in being a reasonably articulate individual, spending time and care on lyric's to express how I feel.
So I wrote some stuff down.
I then had to get into the west end for a meeting and thought of little else on my way there and on the way back again.
I re-read what I wrote and found that I couldn't improve on it.
Heres what I committed to to text:

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck ,fuck, fuck, fuck
Bollocks

That just about sums it up.

I am lost for words.

If, and indeed when, it seems appropriate (and it may well not ever seem so!)

Please tell Ian that I love him.
That playing with him was an honour.
That having him as a friend is a genuine pleasure that I will always treasure.
That to play live with one half of the Crimson that I saw aged thirteen at Watford Town Hall, was a childhood dream made flesh.
That King Crimson, and indeed The Schizoids, were an infinitely better band with him on the drum stool.
That whenever I eat at 5 hot Chillies, I will forever see the expression of joy on his face as he devoured each mouthful.
That I wish I was with him now, if only for a few minutes.
That in spite of everything, I still don't like Liverpool.
That my life was a better thing for knowing him and for working with him.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, bollocks

I have debated whether to send this at all, for some hours.

I decided to send it anyway.

I am lost for words again.

Please take all this in the spirit in which it was intended.

I'm not sure I believe in much, but I pray (whatever that may mean) that you somehow find a way through all this.

I know that his journey this past few months has been made easier with you there for him.

I am grateful for that, at the very least. You were fighting for him, and the rest of us, every inch of the way.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, bollocks

Love

Jakko