Where do you start, with the incredible Simon? One of the most amazing people anybody could have had the honour of knowing. One of a kind. A gentleman, and a gentle man.  And everybody loved him. Why was that? His positive attitude to everything, his huge smile, his infectious laugh? His ability to always make people feel comfortable? Not to mention his encyclopaedic knowledge of music...


I remember meeting him for the first time, back in the early 90s, hanging around Newcastle. He seemed very bohemian, and uber-cool - with his guitar, his Afghan coat, and his masses of hair and beard. Reminded me of a big cuddly lion. But tamer.


We hung around together, Simon and Karen and me, and a bunch of the art students they were with. Lots of parties in Newcastle, lots of getting drunk, lots of soul-searching and world problem-solving into the early hours. Lots of fun. Then a few years later, I would turn up at their flat in Gateshead quite often, sometimes unannounced, normally with a 2.5 litre bottle of Sommerblumchen, or whatever it was called (a vaguely alcoholic pear-flavoured thing), and we'd listen to music, play music, have a drink, have a laugh.


Life moved on, the world got a bit busy for a while, and we didn't see much of each other for a couple of years - but then started catching up a bit more regularly again. Along came their kids into the world (lucky enough to be brought up by a couple of amazing people), and we hung out a bit more - our family and theirs. Simon and Karen have been great friends over recent years. 


Simon and I used to go to see bands every now and again. The Durham Punk Festival was one I remember well. All the usual bands doing the circuit - UK Subs, Angelic Upstarts, Buzzcocks - and Eddie Tudorpole, of Temple Tudor fame. He played a terrible set, and then a little later, as we were out having a walk around Durham and trying to find some food to soak up the alcohol, there we saw him, Eddie Tudorpole sitting outside a cafe in the middle of the City Centre, drinking an espresso. We wandered up to him, and bold as brass, Simon started chatting to him. Drawing on his encyclopaedic knowledge of music, and his charm, he just launched into questions about the late 70s. And even though Eddie seemed high as a kite, he got sucked in by the discussion, and for the next 20 minutes shared all kinds of stories of his experiences with Johnny Rotten, Malcolm Maclaren, and a bunch of other early punks.


A couple of years later, I was lucky enough to be invited by Simon to join him in his VJing adventures. Sonic Vision. (I think the name had already been copyrighted elsewhere in the world, but that didn't stop him.) We went all over the place (mainly around Newcastle, admittedly), providing awesome live visual backdrops for bands at gigs. And our favourite band to do this for by far was Punishment of Luxury. We did lots of gigs with them, and loved every one! One of the first was in York at a club called Fibbers. Before the gig the band took us to the upstairs floor of a nearby house, where the lady who lived there brought us all a huge and fabulous high tea. We were a bit star-struck at that point, and over sandwiches and cakes thoroughly enjoyed hearing all of the stories about the band's exploits and experiences from over the years.


My favourite was when we travelled across the country to Preston for a gig. Simon drove, with all the VJing gear in the back of the car, a satnav on the phone in the front, and a fantastic long journey of discussing bands and songs from the last 30 or 40 years. We got there, set up the gear, did a VJing soundcheck with Punishment of Luxury, and then one by one the other bands came over to Simon and said, "Wow! Can you do that for us too?" Including TV Smith, who was headlining the gig. Perhaps that incredible gig was the high-point of the Sonic Vision career? In any case, Simon was in his element.


After the gig we headed back to the hotel with the band (in a taxi, very rock'n'roll!) where they'd kindly agreed to organise a room for us. We went down to the hotel bar with them, and loads of the other bands were there too, so it was total rock'n'roll lifestyle! And Simon once again was in his element, talking to so many people that he'd only previously listened to on vinyl. 


A few hours kip, and then Simon and I toddled off downstairs to the hotel breakfast. A buffet breakfast, so we piled up the veggie sausages and fried eggs and other hangover cures, and went to find a seat. Simon spotted The Shend, the big frontman from The Cravats, eating a plateful of fried breakfast. So with Simon leading, we beelined over to his table, plonked down next to him without being asked, and Simon spent the next half hour chatting to him about music, easy as you like. Drawing on his encyclopaedic knowledge of music once again, not to mention his charm - comfortable as anything, happy as anything.


The world is a much much lesser place without him, and we all miss him terribly. Miss his smile, miss his laugh, miss the music. Miss the man. (I hope he's somewhere up there, down there, wherever, now - smiling, laughing, drinking Sommerblumchen, and chatting endlessly about music.)