“Paul? Hello mate, it’s Ian”

I never had to ask who “Ian” was. The gravelly voice of Ian Dury was unmistakable. “Bit of a problem with the script. Can you come over?” I was working with him on a TV campaign for disability benefits and so I’d head over. He lived right by Hammersmith Bridge in an amazing flat with spectacular views down the Thames. But inside, the place was a tip: drum kit in one room, mattress on the floor in another. I’d go up and we’d spend about two minutes sorting out the script before he’d roll a spliff the size of a Montecristo and suggest I “have a bang on that”. Then he’d talk and I’d pretend to inhale. He was great company and he must have enjoyed me being there because he got me over there three or four times when it wasn’t strictly necessary. So I now regard getting the chance to have long chats with Ian Dury as a reason to be cheerful.