Well John,
I’m drinking my first coffee of the day, made, as always, in the JW way. I’m glad you decided to leave the LSE and come to Swansea in 1972; I remember that brilliant sound system with its tape deck and two enormous white speakers. We never resolved whether The Doors or The Grateful Dead epitomised West Coast American music but we certainly knew how to relax to the Floyd and Traffic with an occasional Bach fugue.
We bonded over music and motorcycles. I think back to those small 50cc machines buzzing around the country lanes of Blaenpenal that tiny hamlet in mid Wales where ‘the caravan’ was perched. It was actually more of a ‘cararoom’ because you’d stripped all the fittings out and replaced them with exotic floor cushions, eastern wall hangings and a sizeable collection of paraffin heaters, which, although effective in the cold Welsh winter, surely defied all the rules of health and safety. How we walked and talked: I remember two conversations in particular, one on the merits of different sheep breeds in their approach to puddle jumping and secondly how the Welsh town of Lampeter was a microcosm of China! As always when you explained it, everything made perfect sense.
You walked like the wind and I could never work out how you managed to move with such effortless speed. I’m 6ft 4 and you are a bit shorter, yet it was always me who struggled to keep up. Our last meeting two summers ago was no exception; even though you were still recovering from a motor cycling accident I was always arriving in second place at the coffee houses we visited.
It was good to catch up, have a smoke and a talk. Always a good talk. It’s been a privilege to know you, old friend and I will miss you.
Mike James
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