I only met Simon for the first time during the final weeks of his life, but I soon knew my neighbour in the next bed on Hardy Ward was no mere mortal. Our first conversation outlined the stark reality of Simon’s prognosis – he was determined to get well enough to be allowed home to die in the comfort of his own home, beside his beloved Val and Holly.

From this point on, we shared moments of gallows humour, hope, and all too often, frustration at yet another half eaten meal being snatched away whilst enjoying a mid meal nap. Upon such occasions, I’d brutally remind Simon that he was lucky to have enjoyed half a meal as I’d been able to eat bugger all for three weeks. I’m not sure this appeased him.

It was soon evident we shared a passion for music and discussions were often brought to an end by pleas from fellow inmates of ‘please shut up and go to sleep’. Simon was the first muso to convince me that Paul McCartney was anything other than the talentless Liverpudlian who gave us The Frog Chorus and Ebony and Ivory. He did so in such an erudite and enthusiastic manner it almost made me feel proud to have been so previously uninformed and ignorant.

The first tears I shed during my own illness were tears of happiness the night that Simon finally made it out of Hardy – he’d reached his Holy Grail with a remarkable determination to overcome every obstacle put in his path, of which there were many.

Rest well my friend, you’ll not be forgotten.

Gary George

As a child I was always ridiculously excited to know we were going to see you. I have such lovely memories of silliness and goofing around and being mercilessly teased! As adults you were a kind and loving friend. Cousins really are special, ready made friends for life. I love that my own children have their special memories of time with you too. Val and Holly remain a special part of our family and always will.

Sleep tight Simon xxx

Kate Meade