Sunday, 17 January 2016


It flashed up on my news app alerts and I swiped it away without reading it. It's an automatic reaction for me because the updates are normally some bullshit about David Cameron or something else that I equally don't want to read. But then I stopped for a second. I didn't want to reopen the page. I didn't want it to confirm what I thought I had just read.

It was about 6:30 on a Monday morning, I was on my way to New York City. And David Bowie was dead. I looked around the coach almost frantically. It couldn't be true. The majority of the coach were asleep but I didn't understand it. How could he be dead? How could he be not alive any more and everyone else just be sat here like normal, like the whole world hadn't just changed. 

David Bowie was a hero. He was my hero. (No crappy pun intended, I'm normally a big pun fan, but I'm still a bit too sad for that.) I don't really know a time when he wasn't in my life. My mum used to play him on a homemade mixed tape in the car when we were little and since then I've not stopped listening. I could go on about my favourite songs, and favourite eras, and favourite outfits. But nobody wants to here that. Everyone loves Bowie, and everyone has their own thoughts on how his music made them feel and how his work inspired them. And plus if I think about it too much I might cry. 

I know it sounds ridiculous. After I discovered The Beatles as a kid and subsequently found out that John Lennon was already dead I was pretty cut up about that too. It's the curse of being a fan girl. So, instead I'm just going to say thanks for all the endless amazingness that Bowie brought into this little football we call planet Earth. And, that he will never really die. The proof of that is already here in the countless artists, musicians, designers and stylists that he continues to inspire today and will forever. Long live David Bowie. xxx


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