I'm on the balcony in Agios Ioannis Rendi, Greece. Your birthday is approaching and I've been reminiscing about some of our more memorable times together: me forcing you to return to Linda in Elm Avenue, Chatham, after you'd both had a lover's tiff, at the point of a water pistol, '' Hands up Roy or I'll shoot,'' - that would have been back in 1968 or 1969, the couple of days we spent fixing up my old VW Golf in Samos, Greece, and, how can I forget the day you persuaded me to shoot a hole through Peter's satellite dish in Luton three or four years ago, '' Go on Byron, go on, shoot a hole through his satellite dish,''. I still can't believe you're gone, and as I said in my original message, it's hard to imagine a future without you. Your passing has left a vast emptiness in our lives. You were and will always be that very special person.
Byron.
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