Brett Ellis on the sudden death of his best friend

When folk die, the go to is to list their apparent ‘achievements’ but I’m not going to tread that path as there’s no one to impress as those who knew Ian knew Ian, and listing life’s successes does little but attempt to showboat to others what a great chap or chapess the departed was.

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.

I met Ian 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*ck.

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.

Brett Ellis remembers his best friend who died suddenly Now, if he were in education 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 kneecap shell shock.

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, he 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.

There are those people in life you meet that are that unique, original, eccentric, and irreplaceable. Those that you know are truly one-offs and to me, that person was Ian.

And then in flash, that shooting star firecracker explosion of life, unexpectedly comes to an end with a catastrophic brain haemorrhage and then they are gone.

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, 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*ck!

• Brett Ellis is a teacher.