And I'm Telling this Story, in a faraway scene...

I read once, years ago, that Iain Banks' wanted his ashes put into a firework, and set off over the Forth Bridges.

When he discovered he was dying of cancer, he was 87,000 words into a book where the main character's father was dying of cancer. He was sorry he had left it so late in the story to research cancer symptoms. I was genuinely sad when I heard his news.

He had a humour and a humility about him which came through his stories in droves. I dreamt his worlds when I slept when I was in the midst of them, and was quite content in there.

I loved his fiction and sci-fiction in equal measure... I wouldn't choose between them, and they will always have a space on my bookshelves.

Mr Banks, rest in peace, and I hope your ashes light up the Forth and bring a smile to many faces.