It is not easy to find the words to express the utter shock I received when I first heard that Andy had died. It was so unexpected that it seemed as if it was as impossible as anything we carelessly take for granted being taken away suddenly - the air we breathe, the ground beneath our feet, or food in the shops. And if it was a shock and acute pain for me, it must have been many times worse for Hester, Freya, Trina, Dora the cat and the family to whom we send our heart-felt condolences. My feeling was of an enormous loss to me and everyone who knew and loved Andy. I’ve known Andy for 40 years. We met when Andy attended the Manchester University Dungeons and Dragons Society and we hit it off straight way. Andy had that affect on everyone. We were at University and wanted to learn all about life, so the Dungeons and Dragons Society seemed to be a pretty good place to start, in a fantasy world where we were warriors and wizards rescuing damsels in distress. No one wanted to be a damsel, obviously. Andy’s progress in the game was assured as soon as he managed to get his hands on a pair of magic fire-proof underpants. They saved him from many a fiery encounter. Manchester was renowned for its beer brewing industry, so it’s a little ironic that we often ended up at The Black Star public house, which had the worst beer in the city. But it also had the best girls, or at least certainly more girls than the Manchester University Dungeons and Dragons Society. After University, we carried on meeting at weekends and playing role-playing games. After a few years, Andy introduced us to the Magic card game, at which he excelled and used to thrash us all mercilessly. We often holidayed together in exotic places such as India, Italy and Wales. Andy also introduced me to Morris dancing, for which I will always thank him. I have made many good life-long friends despite them trying to put me off in a dance called strip-the-willow in which I ended up in a rose bush. We used to wonder around the country to various folk events at the weekend and do a couple of dances and sink a couple of beers. Everyone knew Andy and thus it was that he met his lovely wife Hester and their life was blessed when their lovely daughter Freya was born. I was honoured to be asked to be Freya’s god-father. For 30 years I have had the honour and pleasure of being a spiritual father to Andy’s beloved baby, child, daughter and now woman Freya. This is what Andy meant to me, and to many of you too, I expect: A larger-than-life character. A family man, for whom Freya was the apple of his eye. An easy-going, gentle giant who looked at the lighter side of life. A jovial, witty, humorous, joke-telling honey-monster with an easy laugh always at hand. A jolly person, who liked to see the funny side of things. An understanding, sympathetic and helpful cat-lover who often looked after our cats who loved him. A great and enthusiastic cook. An adventurous and ambitious entrepreneur who started several exotic fish businesses. An expert on tropical and fresh-water fish. An experienced and knowledgeable Magic card game player. An enthusiastic partner in our own peculiar role-playing game of Dungeons and Dragons. A keen member of several Morris dancing sides. The tireless leader of some of the countries greatest Morris dancers. But most important of all: A great and faithful friend. In Andy’s later years, it was sad to see that his deteriorating health took a toll on his humorous outlook, but that will never affect how I will remember him. Goodbye Andy, my great friend. My world, and the worlds of all those who came to know you, is a worse place without you in it.