Just had an uncle from Newcastle ring and tell me how Ken had just died. Clearly he was very upset by this so I did what I do best, I simply listened and let him tell me all about the sad demise of Ken. As I quietly listened I couldn't help but wonder who the bloody hell Ken was, never the less, listen I did safe in the assumption he must have been an uncle or someone of that ilk. After about five minutes the call drew to its natural end and I left assuring my uncle that Ken would indeed be sadly missed, the great man that he was.
About ten minutes latter I received another call, this time with a sorry. Turns out my number had been called by mistake. I do not, nor have I ever know the man they once called Ken. Once in a great while I do something and when I look back at it I simply think, cock. It would have been far to simple for me to say "hang on, who's Ken", far to simple. The result of avoiding this simplicity is as ever the same. Rest in peace Ken.