There is little that makes me truly proud - indeed, quite the contrary, as every morning I pass the perfectly-observed graffiti on Moorgate that reads "Obey Conform Consume" and feel a shudder through my M&S suit as I traipse manfully toward the slender joys of my office cocoon - but I feel I have made one worthy contribution in my life, should anyone ever feel like chiselling (or graffittiing) it on to my gravestone even as the pall bearers return to the Kings' Arms for a warming stout and the closing strains of "Going Underground" still echo in the overhang of the cold, misty cemetery air: to have assisted, in some small way, with a tribute to a remarkable and short-lived musical legend.