I am purposely starting a separate thread for this, rather than append to the "obit", as I want to keep the sad news separate from the celebration of Johnny's life. (Joe please bear with me on this.) The intent is twofold: To collate information that can eventually be put together into a single document commemorating Johnny's many achievements and ways in which he affected people's lives; and to allow people to air their thoughts and memories of the great man as a way of coming to terms with his passing.

It is very much with the latter in mind that I am writing now. For, despite the fact that Nessie and I have only known Johnny for barely 9 years, his impact on me/us has been disproportionately great. And having helped with other Herga regulars today to empty Johnny's mobile home and sift through a lifetime's accumulation of memories (something I thankfully never had to do for my own parents as my sister in Greece took care of all that, bless her) my head is spinning and my heart is thumping. I hope that writing this will help me and perhaps give to others one man's perspective of a slice from what surely has been a rich and colourful and productive life.

We met Johnny and Joyce at Herga, when Tim Frost took us there for the first time in October 2000. And here's the first observation: We have only ever known Johnny as one half of a pair of what became our best friends in England. The relationship and interactions between Johnny and Joyce, the dinners and overnight stays at each others' homes, the conversations under increasing influence of samples from their extensive collection, the gigs with Joyce meticulously noting the songs Johnny sang, as he sang them (he used to joke about writing his setlists after the event), Johnny's look towards Joyce asking for help when he forgot the words (very rare) or when he couldn't get the last song out of his head ("trouble is, that last song had a great tune!"), the little touches of affection and the loving exasperation and ordinariness that are part of the fibre of any happy relationship, are all adding their own hues to our memories of Johnny.

Tim had played me a cassette of Johnny's singing before we went to Herga, so I thought I knew what to expect. Wrong, so wrong! Because the magnetic presence of the man, his love and care of the songs, his ease in delivery, were all part of the finished product to which no recording could ever do justice. Being newbies, at first we would position ourselves in a corner from where to observe proceedings, but we soon moved to sit behind Johnny and Joyce (themselves sitting at centre front in the Royal Oak's function room), all the better to enjoy the velvet of his bass. He was the only singer I know that could be heard loud and clear from behind. And as a result of this, the couple in front soon struck up conversations with us, and the rest is history.

When Mayday 2001 was approaching I wanted to sing a traditional Maysong, but was in too much awe of Johnny's stewardship of the tradition to dare to stand next to him singing a traditional song. My way out was to write my first song, "May memories never fade", as a direct result. And Johnny turned round from his front seat and smiled approvingly. So whatever other additional causes there might have been behind my songwriting, the catalyst was definitely Johnny.

Picture: Dinner at J+J's, and Johnny shyly asks if I minded if he learns "Heart of a sailor boy"! The first artist to want to sing one of my songs, and it had to be Johnny, and he was shy about it for chrissake! When lesser artists can be so full of themselves, the modesty of the man was immense.

Picture: February 2002 - my first gig, at Maidenhead FC. It seems that most of Herga is there to wish me well, but the biggest honour is seeing Johnny and Joyce there, beaming encouragingly at me and joining lustily in all the choruses, physically dragging with his voice everyone else to join along. And in February 2003, at Bishops Stortford FC, Johnny & Joyce are still there with the rest of the Herga folk, giving rise to Leadfingers' statement "I see you've brought your Georgettes along"). How could I not mention Johnny in "Friends like these" then - it was written for the Herga folk, with Johnny at the front.

Picture: Recording "Ordinary heroes" in the studio. Johnny offered to bring copies of the lyrics for all 11 participants and turns up on the first day with 12 (one for the engineer) beautifully bound booklets printed single-page and with lovely titles and front page. Such professionalism and loving care was unheard of by this slapdash Greek.

And then, during the recording of the choruses, I discovered that Martin (the engineer), who knew Johnny well, had to have separate settings for Johnny's voice ("stand a little further back, Johnny!").

Picture: Workum, Netherlands, the day before the Shanty Festival there. Strolling with Johnny through the town during the morning, looking for Joyce and Nessie who have been let loose on Workum's antique shops and galleries. It takes us more than 30 minutes to walk 200 metres, as everyone not only recognises Johnny, but wants to stop and talk with him. And Johnny remembers them all and asks about their latest news, and he is genuinely interested!

Picture: New Year's Eve 2008 - Johnny and Joyce coming to us. Johnny knows our love for the Dutch mustard soup, so he has made some to bring along. The labels on the containers are beautifully, lovingly constructed and printed "Vanessa's Mustard Soup". One of them is now stuck on our fridge to remind us. J+J also did the catering for our Nessie's and mine joint 50th birthday bash, and we have spent many hours exchanging recipes and trying recipes on each other.

Picture: Johnny standing to sing, the most enormous bunch of keys jangling from his belt loop, including bottle opener of course. He plays with them absentmindedly as he introduces a song. To my mind those keys are symbolic of the hearts he unlocked.

Picture: This morning, at Johnny's mobile home (more like dumping ground/safe storage for a lifetime's memories). In a presentation box there is ship's biscuit - hard, indestructible thing. "Presented to Johnny Collins on the occasion of...". From a cardboard box full of cards I pick out an old Heavy Goods Vehicle driving licence. It is Johnny's - I never knew he had an HGV licence. I rationalise that there was too much to the man, for one person to know.

But what I do know fills me.