How very sad to learn that we will never again relish his side-splitting humour nor marvel at his daring, outrageous behaviour. That infectious enthusiasm of his, that scathing, lacerating wit which sprang nimbly from his impudent, chirpy gob, is lost to us now. Nick's baby face belied both an impish, quicksilver personality and an joyously accomplished musical ability, either of which always brought instant good cheer. I have nothing but fond memories of him.

We first met as students at Leeds Uni, where he was 'Agric' Nick Strutt for a year, before changing direction, from the science path which Dick Wilcocks expected him to follow to the artistic path which truly formed him. We were lodged at the Grand Hotel, Harrogate in the autumn term of 1965, awaiting completion of our new Hall of Residence. It was at the Grand Hotel where the antics of the rascally Strutt/Warrington/Wilcocks trio from Essex first came to my notice. In Nick's early days at Leeds University he was saved from expulsion by Jack Straw, our local Students Union rep.

I dimly remember his very early partnership with Roger Knowles (well done, loyal Roger, for sticking with our pal), and the odd trips up to Middlesborough or Billingham to see him perform. In 1966, when hewere living with Mike G and Dave H on Cardigan Road, Leeds, he hooked up with Hugo McGill and Eric Bell, who used to come round with him and crash out at my shared student house. Ritchie Bull became a good mate, also through Nick, and later Bob Pegg too.

The last time I saw Nick play was at the Shoulder of Mutton in Castleford, at a bash celebrating his 55th birthday, a unforgettable musical afternoon and evening. The last time I actually spent time in his company was around 2003, when he had moved in with Hugo and Dodie McGill in Caistor. I spent a wonderfully idle week there with them.

The occasional rambling late-night phone-calls of recent years revealed a sorry state of affairs, but he retained his ability to amuse so wonderfully well that they couldn't be begrudged. The sparkle in his soul still twinkled bright, he never lost his breath-taking ability to shock, and he bore a enduring loyalty towards old friends which was a pleasant surprise. Two years ago, to my intense regret, I allowed this contact slip.

RIP Nick. If you only knew how greatly you are missed. Bengo.