This never fails to touch my soul.
August 10th is the anniversary of Anthony H. Wilson’s death.
Six years ago tonight I was sat in a house in a North London terrace and my phone rang. It was Lemn Sissay.
“Mike, Tony’s dead” – No intro, no hello, no how are you just that ace Mancunian, Wiganish, Leighish twang that Lemn has saying “Tony Wilson’s dead”
I turned on the TV to see Mark E Smith and Paul Morley on Newsnight confirming what Lemn had said “Tony Wilson’s dead.”
I kept repeating the words over and over in silence and aloud
“Tony Wilson’s dead”
“Tony Wilson’s dead,”
The words seemed so incongruous and reluctant to sit side by side
“Tony Wilson’s dead” and they echoed and they are still echoing six years down the line.
I’d never spoke to Tony, words were never exchanged (Tony talk to me) I shared his company many times but…
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