I first met Mark in 1982. My parents had the good sense to send me away to boarding school, and I had the good fortune to find Mark in the same form as me. Everyone seemed to be called Mark except me. Maybe that’s why he immediately became ‘Dredge’.

You tend to notice in others what you wish you possessed yourself. Sat next to Dredgie on a PE bench, waiting for puberty to improve my chances of being noticed by a girl, I couldn’t help fixating on his colossal thighs. He was already built like a man. He was everything I wanted to be as an athlete. And everything I never was. Playing hockey and rugby alongside him was like being invited to stand next to Ron Jeremy at a urinal.

Bit of a powerhouse on the field but the first thing I noticed was his shy streak: how self-conscious and uncomfortable he became whenever he had to read out loud in class. That’s what caught my attention – I felt the same utter terror, tongue rejecting itself, sweaty, hysterical blindness, words running away from you on the page. For a lad who loved contact sport, Mark seemed endearingly vulnerable when confronted with a classroom full of yawning peers and a copy of the Hobbit. Me too, Dredgie. Me too.

Then there was music. It didn’t take long for it to dominate our friendship. Define it, probably. I have so many amazing memories of moments, albums, gigs, festivals with Mark there with me. When you share taste in bands with someone, especially in your teens, it’s like signing a silent contract – you understand something hardly anyone else does. It’s like sharing a secret language. These are the most vivid memories of Mark. So, so special. I can’t explain how important that part of our friendship was. That connection was so important to me.

Listening to the first House of Love album on his new Technics stereo – I envied that hifi like I envied his thighs. Everything sounded better through his speakers.

The '92 Reading festival. Overdoing everything, every minute. And his tiny one-man tent being slowly flattened by human traffic then stolen on the last day. (I have a confession, Dredgie – I saw them walk off with it but after 3 days of far-too-much I was too out of my gourd to intervene. You didn’t seem that bothered though, so… no harm, no foul.)

This could get silly-long so I’ll end by smashing out a few quick ones:

Making you laugh at the worst, and therefore the best, possible moments.

Your cowboy-gait running-style. Amazing.

Talking football and John Peel.

Swapping albums.

Your no-context Sid Waddell impression.

Spending more of my teenage years with you and all our mates than my own family.

Leaving home aged 11 and finding beautiful people like you to fill that gaping void – you’ll never know how important you were to me. Wish I could tell you.

Losing touch, finding you, then losing touch again. This hurts the most now.

And only finding out about the most important thing in your life – your daughter - when it was too late to talk to you about her.

There’s so much more I could say. But that’s what I’ll think of when I think of you, Mark. Some of it, anyway.

I can’t believe I’ll never see you again.

Love you, Dredgie. Sleep well. 

Fordy. xxx