What a Cuneyt

Max has pinpointed one of those ‘where were you’ moments, while making a great claim for ’77 as a classic music year. When Kennedy was shot I was in bed (a cot), when Elvis croaked I was on holiday (also Princess Di and Jacko), when Lennon was shot, I was working in a petrol (gas) station, when Strummer died I was driving (just out crawlin’ around). In each case I heard it on the Radio Radio. When Cuneyt Cakir struck last night I was glued to the telly. This is one of those personal moments of grief that strike occasionally in a lifetime and blight the young, bend low the old, and add to the burden of the stout backed. What would McCartney say? Well, as a scouser he’d probably laugh his head off, but I prefer his scrambled eggs: Suddenly, I’m not half to man I used to be, There’s a shadow hanging over me. Oh, yesterday came suddenly. Yesterday, it was such an easy game to play. Now I need a place to hide away.