With phone in hand, now resting on my chest, I drift off, with memories of Robbie Robertson zig-zagging through time, especially the songs of his that have affected me over the years, some more so than others. Since the news of David Bowie’s passing, I ceased to be overly shocked or surprised when hearing of the death of any musician slightly older than myself, in fact I now consider each day a bonus, a notion I picked up on once I reached retirement age. I was going to use the word passing but I thought the word death more immediate, and slightly more Yorkshire. ![]() ![]() I notice one or two messages from friends, each telling me of the death of Robbie Robertson, one of the legends in popular music. I reach for my phone, bleary-eyed, not really ready or prepared for the day ahead. It’s Thursday morning and light filters through the cracks between the curtains.
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