Not a travel post today, but instead I just wanted to compose a short tribute to Sean Hughes, who passed away on Monday, way too soon, at the age of just 51.
An Irish comedian, though born in London, where he spent the majority of his life, I’d been a fan of Sean’s since I was about 15. Never Mind The Buzzcocks brought him to prominence, where his love of music shone through above the slight disdain that comedians often have for quiz shows, his humour sharp and gentle in equal measure. But I loved his other, less-known projects: the surrealism of Sean’s Show, filmed in a fake flat in which the fourth wall was permanently being busted down, and where God and Samuel Beckett were forever leaving messages on the answerphone. His novels, The Detainees and It’s What He Would’ve Wanted, which were intriguingly dark and better than he was ever given credit for. His poetry collections of Sean’s Book and The Grey Area, the latter of which I have a much-treasured signed copy of. I loved his acting in The Last Detective as sidekick Mod, always ready with a downbeat fact of life, the comedic heart of the show.
I never met Sean. I never heard a bad word about him, only good. I used to chat to him about football on Twitter, and he’d happily reply.
I’ll miss him enormously. Sleep well, mate.