The man with the coolest name in the wine trade (you may be aware of the amazing shop making golf clubs in St. Andrews with the same name), the biggest heart (he loved everyone), and the rudest songs (anyone remember the lyrics to Craven ‘A’?) died yesterday.

He was the warmest of intelligent men who was as colourful as his worn-out shiny jackets. He was passionate about sport, progressive rock, horror films, food and wine. He leaves behind his life long best friend and wife, Alex, and he never really got over the death of Herbie, his retired racing greyhound, who he was convinced was human. (See below.) By the way. He was.

He was an alumni of Cheltenham Boys College, where he realised that there are so few remaining texts written in classical Greek, that he had read them all, cover to cover by the time he took his 'A’ Levels. Armed with this realisation, he decide to read Greek at  UCL, where, in his own words, he learned to “drink in Greek, play cricket and hockey in Greek, but little else”. He achieved a 1st, just as he predicted he would.  

I loved you man. Funny, eccentric, unpredictable, always positive, always there when I needed you. You’re going to leave a huge vacuum in my heart. Words can’t describe how sad I feel. I am in pieces. Keep the prog alive, and say hi to Herb for me. I won’t be able to listen to Rush or Marillion again without thinking about you, missing you, wanting to toast you.

I will tell everyone about you, because they don’t make Auchterlonies anymore, which, quite frankly, sucks. I’ll carry on being nice on our behalf. There’s honour in nice. People forget that.

I’ll always remember us drinking outside the Sloaney Pony, naked, with Alex, singing rugby songs, after our first International Wine Challenge in 1996, when we were young enough to think that, after last orders, that was perfectly reasonable behaviour.

Caspar, old fellow, I still have the odd interesting night out without you. One such evening happened last week in Croatia, and in homage to one of the  most colourful and big hearted people I ever had the pleasure to meet, my next post, old bean, will be dedicated to you. I know you would have approved.

As I can no longer tell you what happened, I will share it with everyone else.

Good bye, lovely boy. xxxxx

Here’s one of your favourites for old times sake.

OK Caspar? After three. One. Two. Three. (Anyone else reading this, feel free to sing along.)

Pretty women out walking with gorillas down my street
From my window I’m staring while my coffee grows cold
Look over there! Where?
There’s a lady that I used to know
She’s married now or engaged or something
so I am told

Is she really going out with him?
Is she really gonna take him home tonight?
Is she really going out with him?
Cause if my eyes don’t deceive me
Theres something going wrong around here…round here

Tonights the night when I go to all the parties down my street
I wash my hair and I kid myself I look real smooth
Look over there! Where? 
Here comes Amy with her new boyfriend
They say that looks don’t count for much
and so there goes your proof

Is she really going out with him?
Is she really gonna take him home tonight?
Is she really going out with him?
Cause if my eyes don’t deceive me
Theres something going wrong around here…around here

But if looks could kill
There’s a man there whos more down as dead
Cause I’ve had my fill
Listen you, take your hands from her head
I get so mean around this scene

Is she really going out with him?
Is she really gonna take him home tonight?
Is she really going out with him?
Cause if my eyes don’t deceive me
Theres something going wrong around here…around here

Something going wrong around here
Something going wrong around here
Something going wrong around.