Feb 28th

Todays Independent carries a large obituary for Ian Wallace. Theres a lovely picture of him too that I hadn't seen before. Its a pretty extensive and well researched piece. For a moment it's strangely comforting to see this degree of recognition for Ian's work in a respected daily paper. Then I'm struck by the same thing that happened when I read Pi'ps obit in the same journal but a few months ago. Ian could have done with this kind of press when he was alive and releasing a new CD or Schizoid tour.

It's still hard to imagine that I will never speak to him again. That he won't call from LA for a chat about the football or in the hope that I might make him laugh. It's just horrible.

Meanwhile the web is also awash with generous appraisals of Ian as both man and musician.
I happen upon one website who do just this. Praise him and remember him. Yet this doesn't comfort me at all. In fact it makes me fume with anger. For the past few years of Ian's life this same site took great pleasure in knocking Ian down and taking the piss out of him at every available opportunity. Ian was a sensitive soul and took this to heart.

Free speech on the web is just that and I would tell Ian to ignore it. Crimson fans may well remember the Adrian Belew debacle on Elephant-talk. It's just not worth getting involved. These are, after all, just the musing of a handful of people. But Ian , bless him, just couldn't get over the injustice of, say, a record he's made, that no one had even heard yet being slagged off regardless.

So if that were my stance toward them, why has today made me so angry?

Well heres the thing. A month or so ago Ian took the very brave decision (in my opinion) to go public with the battle he was facing with this disease. This particular web site chose to report this genuinely touching event by making jokes about Ian and his illness. Indeed they referred to Ian and his cancer as 'Wally Potter and the throat of fire'.

It's hard to imagine what the sites motivation was in doing this. Maybe they thought they were being funny or ironic? Maybe the thought that they were being clever, dangerous, iconoclastic or challenging? Well you know what? Ian didn't think it was any of those things. He was absolutely devastated that anyone could say this about him. He was deeply upset at a time when he really didn't need any other worries in his life.

So, in case they weren't fully aware, that is exactly the effect it did have on him.

I hope they're pleased with them selves. Well done.

That someone could make light of my friend and colleague staring his own mortality in the face is, frankly, beyond me.

Just in case anyone thought this was a brief aberration from the site, I would like to point out that following this initial posting there was indeed some reaction form others suggesting the sickness of such remarks. This was greeted with great sarcasm. Indeed the most generous thing they could come up with was 'Let's wish Wally well and hope that it isn't long before he's ruining more Crimson standards by jazzing them up.'

Just what you want to hear when your dying.

God forbid that the individual responsible is diagnosed with a terminal illness himself, or his wife or child. Will he find the subject so hilarious then?

Ian was, as Robert Fripp pointed out in his diary, a man with out malice. In the end he said he felt sorry for them, but it certainly made his last and most difficult journey considerably tougher, both for him and especially those around him.

I note that since his death they appear to have erased these comments and exchange's from their archive. In its place are the musings and reminiscences of hearing, watching and indeed meeting this great musician.

Not funny, clever or challenging.

Definitely ironic though. He could have done with this care and support when he was alive. It's no use to him now. And to those of us left, it won't erase the memory of what they wrote about him before.

Feb 26th

The morning was packed with last minute changes to the Play-station Advert. Nothing difficult, just fiddly. Back to the muti track session, make the edit, mix it. Then load it up to the big premixed Orchestral bit that never seems to need changes. A little compression over the whole thing and mix it down again. Then load it up in the movie editing software and make a new movie file with the new changes. Just in case you were wondering.

All done in time to have a bite to eat prior to driving out to Buckinghamshre with Amanda to view a property. Except that at the very least minute they require 20 second and 15 second versions. There's, and my, deadline was 1:00. I just made both.

We drove out of the smoke to the country side where an old school pal, and now estate agent, shows us round disappointing property number 507.

Never expect estate agents details to tell the truth.

February 25th

I had promised Django a day out during his half term break last week, However pressure of work and deadlines had reduced this to but a mere lunch trip on Thursday.
So today I attempt to make a mends and take him to the circus.

Zippos circus has been in residence at Brent Cross for the past week. We drove out through the drizzle and low and behold there were indeed tickets left for the final morning performance. We entered the entrance marquee where the damp air hung with the aroma of chip fat and popcorn.
We queued up for a box of the the over priced corn de pop and were served by a slender woman with far too much make up on. Only to later discover that when not serving kids and parents fizzy drinks and junk food, she was in fact Princess Lena the Rumanian queen of the high trapeze. Jeez these people work hard for the money.

Inside the small sawdust laden circus tent we took our seats ring side. Django was, for the most part, totally captivated. In a world of cyber entertainment, blue screen dare devils, cinematic trickery and risk free, health and safety conscious activities there was something genuinely shocking about seeing people close up risking, if not their lives, then serious permanent injury. In fact there were a few moments that I could barely watch. The stocky indian Princess from the family of knife throwers (who we had seen some 20 minutes previously juggling foot balls and burning tennis racquets and introduced as Czechoslovakia's finest) that was tied to a large spinning wheel and had real, sharp, large knives thrown at her, was a case in point. As for the insane south american troupe of high wire nutters who generally pissed about and tried to put each other whilst they balanced across a high wire some 100 ft up in the roof of the tent with no safety net, or safety wires! Well I watched that through the fingers of my hands. At one point the youngest member walked across to the middle and begun to juggle the hoops he had balanced precariously on one arm. He leaned over to catch a misplaced hoop and began to fall. My son was about to see a grown man die or become a paraplegic at the very least. But, ho ho, his shoes had been attached to the rope. How we laughed.

After lunch at somewhere just dreadful that no self respecting parent should ever take a child (don't tell mum!) we went back home.

Django was full of tales of the daring acts he had just witnessed. When asked what his favourite thing was, he said 'The budgies'. The aging ringmaster took the spotlight in the second half with-the kind of bird act that I haven't seen in over 30 years. A collection of budgies pull small carts and slide down slides. It was rubbish, anachronistic and in the word of he great bard, bleedin naff. Django loved it and kept laughing at the memory of the Budgie climbing up the ladder, running round the others and sliding down the slide when the ring master kept telling him off. Bless him, he's only 4 and a half.

'Mum! after that we had lunch at McDonalds'.

Never tell a 4 year old to keep a secret.