It somehow seems entirely fitting that Daevid Allen, the legendary musician and poet, early associate of William Burroughs and psychedelic founder of ‘Gong’, should have died on Friday 13th. I had the great pleasure of spending a short amount of time with him when he stayed on two occasions in our house in Whitstable with his French girlfriend . He had come to make music with his old friend Hugh Hopper and I must admit that I knew nothing about him when he arrived. Later I realised that he was treated with almost divine reverence by his followers; indeed one middle aged male groupie asked me how my life had changed as a result of having Daevid as a guest! At the time I thought that such a suggestion was hilarious and absurd but he was undoubtedly special, very few people have forged such a particular life and his vibration, for want of a better word, certainly rubbed off on me. I will remember him sitting in our garden talking about the early days of Soft Machine and of giving his guitar to Jimi Hendrix. I will remember him sitting in our kitchen strumming his guitar and talking about the influence of the moon and I will remember how careful he was with his food and his health in general. Finally I will remember him, or his girlfriend, for breaking our shower unit, for which he wrote us an apologetic and humorous note enclosing money for its repair! I last saw him backstage at Lounge on the Farm where he played with Gong to rapturous reception. A genuine one-off and uniquely sane, he led his own life and will be remembered.