A different ending

Over the last week, as I have been completely, completely indifferent to the death of a privileged 96-year-old woman, and immune to the outpourings of sentiment about how she worked so hard for the country (what about all the key workers who work so hard for all of us and don't go home to be waited on?) I've wondered whether I've lost all ability to feel.

I haven't. This evening I heard about the death of Paul Sartin, aged 51, and I discovered that my tear ducts still work.

I missed hearing him at Oxford Folk Festival in April because I was stewarding elsewhere. I turned down the opportunity to do a singing workshop with him recently because I'm saving the pennies. But I was due to see him as part of the Bellowhead final final tour in November.

He plays the fiddle and sings here.  He plays oboe in two pictures I took of Bellowhead. Such a talent. Such a loss.