I first met Micca 33 years and 11 months ago, when he turned up in my home town for a gianting event. The fact that I was dressed in a pale blue and cerise clown suit, with wire in my plaits (a la St Trinians), must have alerted him to the fact that I could be of like mind - PLU as he would say. He introduced me to Towersey Folk Festival, the works of Tom Lehrer, Brick Lane Market, a whole raft of assorted nutters and folkies; and my husband Manitas. We managed to make him speechless for a whole hour when we asked him to be best man at our wedding; where I'm pretty sure he hexed the video, as it ran out of battery as he stood up to speak, and wasn't fixed until he had finished. He was a regular visitor to our house, livening many a dinner party, and when Phoebe (aka Bratling and Limpit) was born, he became honorary aged relative (grandfather was never a role that was going to sit with him, disreputable uncle was definitely his forte). He has been such a large - in every sense - part of our lives that it's proving very hard to imagine it without his loud, annoying, entertaining, lovable hairy presence.

LTS