ot long ago I drove down to Argyllshire to attend a memorial concert for Bill, a dear old friend whom I’d known since my teens. Due to lockdown, his funeral, eight months previously, had been for family only and this was a perfect celebration of the life of a man we shall all remember fondly, not least for his wicked sense of humour. The concert was at Crear, a striking venue near Kilberry, on the coast of the Knapdale peninsula, with its large glass-fronted building looking across the water to the islands of Jura and Islay. I’d joined up with three friends on
