This week I lost a friend- a friend I’d never met, never seen, and yet a friend nonetheless. His name was David Bowie, and he was a true musical icon and one of my heroes. I’ve felt a deep connection with his music ever since I was in my teens, and used to listen to ‘Ziggy Stardust’ and ‘Hunky Dory’ on my turntable. (I still do.) I have a Bowie T-shirt. I went to see an exhibition focusing on his life at the V&A. A Bowie poster graced my bedroom wall for years. I have at least four (probably more) of his albums on vinyl. I saw ‘Labyrinth’ in the cinema last year. I’ve even visited where the cover for ‘Ziggy Stardust’ was shot. I know the words to ‘Moonage Daydream’, ‘Lady Stardust’ ‘Kooks’ and ‘The Prettiest Star.’ The lyrics to ‘Five Years’ still give me goosebumps. And his death was truly, utterly shocking to me- he always seemed immortal, untouchable, a god of glamour and excess and gender-bending defiance. But now he is gone- the magic dance has ended, the glitter has finally faded.