It came as bit of a shock today to hear that Jimmy Savile had died. It shouldn’t do, of course, given that he was 84, the same age as my dad.
There are some people who you illogically expect to go on forever and those you don’t. For example, it was sad to hear of the death of Amy Winehouse, but I doubt if anyone was really surprised.
I guess it’s a familiarity thing that gives the illusion of immortality. When people like Jimmy have been around for as long as you can remember, it’s hard to imagine a world without them.
As I said, he was the same age as my dad and the two were acquainted, albeit briefly, through their shared pastime of cycling in their teens and early twenties. They were members of clubs on opposite sides of the Pennines, and would often come across each other, usually on a windswept moor between the red and white rose counties.
It has always been hard for me to reconcile the fact that they were peers — my dad the staid authority figure and Jimmy Savile the flamboyant radio DJ and tv presenter.
It is claimed that he actually invented the disco with half a dozen borrowed records at a dance hall in Leeds in the 1940s, although I’ve no doubt some American will challenge that fact.
Whatever, I’m sorry to see Jimmy go and God had better watch out for his diamante halo.