Jonny, you would’ve enjoyed the absurd calamity that kept us from attending your funeral this morning. We got up early and in honour of you, dressed in our finest. We drank some coffee, and were ready to hit the road for the sad drive to Reading Crematorium, to say goodbye to you. Unfortunately, it has rained, a lot. Dorset is a series of sodden villages joined by muddy lanes that for now think they are rivers. Sam drove into one, much deeper than anticipated, and the car stopped. The water came in, buggering the engine, seeped through the doors, making tide marks on her beautiful black taffeta skirt. It was seven in the morning, pissing down, and there we were. We tried different transport options but all had flaws and by the time we could get anywhere, it was too late to reach Reading in time. It was ridiculous, frustrating, but we all said we thought you would’ve enjoyed the absurdity of our predicament.

When you and I stopped being friends, when our friendship rather, was forced to grow into a new shape, it was one of the most upsetting times in my life. I’m not sure it could ever have been entirely put right, or could ever be put back to what existed before. But before that time, you were (and in so many ways remain) one of my dearest, most beloved friends.

You were one of the people I most enjoyed talking to. I think in moments, you genuinely believed that anything was possible. You were prepared to see the world as a place that, though odds-on was highly likely to confound, was a realm of mighty, wondrous possibilities. I think there was always a battle for you with the confounding side of the equation. I think things often seemed to you fatally just shy of your grasp. I was so angry with you for falling into addiction, but like Soapy said, everyone who falls that fall was united by some grief or another, and I think you would appreciate him saying that you all shared, in that pretty bleak time, a camaraderie. The camaraderie of the hopelessly romantic, and I have to say a camaraderie of the fucking annoying.

We went through many things together as friends, Jonny, and for so many of my life’s biggest moments, it’s disasters and it’s celebrations, you were one of the first people to know about it, to share in it and to help me through it. We had so much fun as well. I’m not going to list the memories and the anecdotes, but there are so many and I will always cherish them. I have to say, though, I have never not been glad that we didn’t move in to that building site caravan in Kentish Town.

You were an extraordinary man, Jonny Wilkes, so intelligent, funny, entertaining, sharp and witty; often extremely exasperating, not always honest. You were a true romantic. The ability to see all of that beauty, all of that mystery, the ability to cherish those you loved, and to will for them the full wonder of life – it was a gift. And so many people loved you. That never seemed to evade you.

For decades of my life, Jonny, you were one of the most important people in it. I will forever be grateful. And I’m so sorry that the absurdity of a fucking massive puddle stopped us from being there today to join everybody who loves you in saying goodbye.

Go well my friend.