Penfold.

I only found out on Sunday that Bryan had gone when a friend texted me to tell me of Mark Burgess' tribute night at The Castle. I had been holidaying in Spain & consequently missed all the sadness & joy of celebrating Bryans life.

My first memories of him begin in his friend Aaron's house in 93 or 94. Mark Burgess & the Sons of God were playing UMIST and I got a lift from Leeds to Manchester (where I now live) with one of the band. We stopped at Aaron's and he made us a brew with choccy milk as he'd ran out of regular. I don't know if Bryan lived there but he came in, shower-fresh in a towel looking slightly embarrased but laughing as we were introduced. I thought he was beautiful and his presence was unmistakable. Later that evening I saw him sing with Molly Half Head and annoyed everyone by constantly repeating how 'fucking fantistic this lot' were.

It was another couple of years before I moved to Mcr but Bryan was instantly recognisable, by now persistently wearing his duffle coat with the determination that Damon Gough wears his tea-cosy hat.
Bryan was one of those characters that you could almost guarantee would be there when you went out. He still will be, but now just watching quietly from the back.
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