We (here, specifically, me, john) make no excuse whatsoever for half-inching the title of an Ian Dury song to record the sad loss of a much-loved Skopelos friend, Mark Clough, who died, peacefully and surrounded by his family, on Saturday. He was merely 55, if large and bearded, although few held that against him.
Mark was a writer, journalist and editor in Britain with the Western Morning News and the North Devon Journal (my thanks to his colleague and friend Lyn Barton for her biographical research here), and a biro-and-pad hack of the old school, who mentored untold numbers of younger writers (one went on to become Political Editor of the Financial Times) and is a great loss to the history of journalism, although he would chuckle at that fact.
Mark in Clark Kent mode, with runner David Bedford
He and his wife Caroline moved to Skopelos five years ago, where they dedicated themselves to becoming Greek alongside their neighbours, gardening and walking their dog Bonnie, as he explained in his blog.
Warned of his illness, a number of his friends recently convened a celebration of their friendship with Mark and Caroline at the Asterias taverna on his favourite beach, Panormos, to light a fire – Mark was also a career pyromaniac – and blow up some balloons to show Mark and family we were thinking about them. Both fire and balloons were dealt with in an ecologically sound manner afterwards.
Idiocy expands with a click
He will be missed for his warmth, kindness, keen intelligence and mischievous humour. But, as Mark often did at his blog, we should leave the last word to one of his favourite musicians. Just don’t call him Trevor.
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