Watford Observer columnist pays tribute to his best friend

No, what I aim to do is to explain why his life had meaning, despite being one fraught with difficulty, and challenges including, at times, flirtations with addiction, imprisonment and the final ignominy: watching his beloved daughter die of cancer in her early 20s but a few short years ago.

Ian had, since I met him on the mean streets of Hastings, devoid now as then for the youth of hope, a future or gainful employment, akin to vast swathes of coastal resorts across blighty, perfected the art of not giving a f**k.

We all subscribe to the societal norms of working, being submissive to bosses who arguably are shood in due to their social standing and middle-class university educated upbringing, as many reach their level of incompetence in their employ, but that wasn’t for our Ian.

He couldn’t and wouldn’t submit to others and was immune to licking derriere. If he liked you and thought you had some credence, irrespective of your social standing or background, then he remained loyal, as he did with me, for the 35 years our friendship endured.

If he were in the education system now, he would rightly be recognised as having ADHD, as he literally couldn’t sit still which was a source of merriment when chatting to a female he quite liked as his right knee (and only ever his right) would bounce up and down uncontrollably as if he were suffering with knee cap shell shock.

Brett with Ian (Image: Brett Ellis)

I remember the first time, just after we became friends, of visiting his flat in St Leonard’s, a big Victorian jobbie with lofty ceilings. He had moved every scrap of furniture out and burnt it on the beach the previous night to ‘keep his mates warm’ in the brisk sea breeze before acquiring a full-size volleyball net.

Arriving at his flat that day was like watching the bizarre Olympics as teams of eight-a-side would battle it out for six or seven hours to be crowned the unofficial Hastings indoor volleyball champions. I took a female friend with me that day who, making conversation as Ian stood, all 6ft 4in of him in shorts and a hand knitted tank top, said ‘gorgeous flat’. His response, cheekily deployed was ‘gorgeous face,’ before turning and hitting the winner across the net.

We would go raving and for some unknown reason he would often make a hat. On one occasion he wore a 12-inch record cover with a balloon tied to it on his bonce and didn’t care how ridiculous he looked. He would start jobs and if he didn’t like the boss, wouldn’t string them along, but say ‘I don’t like you. I’m not coming in again’ and that was literally the way he lived his life: not out to prove anything to anyone, but not lazy, just not a conformist.

There are those people in life you meet that are that unique, original, eccentric, and irreplaceable. Those that you know they are truly one offs and to me, that person was Ian. Yes, he was littered with faults, maybe more so than the average bear, but he was always kind, big hearted, loyal, and never ever, despite becoming a black belt some years ago, violent, or hurtful, or cruel to those around him. He just didn’t have it in him.

I can count on one hand those people in life that we can have a blazing row with and then be hugging 30 seconds later as we did, with brutal honesty, repeatedly over our friendship. It was like a marriage without the sex (or as some may call it ‘a marriage’).

And then in flash, that shooting star firecracker explosion of life, unexpectedly comes to an end with, as in Ian’s case, a catastrophic brain haemorrhage, and then they are gone, never to return.

And that’s where I have issue: I picked up the phone to message him last night then my blood ran cold before the AA called trying to upsell me something and, with Ian fresh in my mind I felt unburdened by telling the chap where to get off. It was refreshing and a reset and, in his death, the one takeaway I will take from my friend is to be more like him and try to perfect the art of not really giving a f**k…

• Brett Ellis is a teacher