Right-Ho Ian, where do we start?
I didn’t quite realise how much I loved Ian until he went.
Always there with an open door a cup of tea and a spliff
There to lend a hand when otherwise I could have fallen badly, thank you.
He had this ability to make me feel like a special friend and, although I was aware of many other people in his life, it came as a surprise to see so many others at his funeral who felt the same, how did he have the time and emotional resources?
Having work that was pursued as a hobby rather than a necessity might have helped, I remember going to his so many times to find him engrossed in ‘code-world’ which, bless him, he would do his best to explain to me under the mistaken belief that I’d understand.
I loved the fact that he was a ‘posh anarchist’, that although he was born into a well off family and never wanted for money, indeed he enjoyed the benefits this gave him with minimal anarco-guilt, he never for one moment suffered from the arrogance that good fortune can bring but was sensitive and alert to injustice wherever it appeared. But much more than this: he did something about it. I can remember going to the G8 protest in Stirling with him and remember with love his cool pacifist head as the drama of a police charge unfolded itself, constantly tempering my tendency to ‘have a go’. Inspired by the way the direct action was organised there he involved himself more and more in protest activity. A pacifist through and through and a delightful man to spend time with and, as has been said so many times, always a smile and that mischeivous Peter Pan twinkle in his eyes.
There is so much more I could write but for now I’ll just enclose the only photos I have of him, round mine 6 or 7 years ago, suitably stoned, skinning up and investigating xmas presents for one of the kids.
Quite simply: I miss you