Jols and I first met at some point in the early 1990s, somewhere close to where me and his wife Jo grew up. In other words, deepest Essex. I think Hornchurch, on a street close to the pub where we would go for our first words. Jo and I briefly went to school together and, for some reason, she had become friendly wit my girlfriend at the time. “We’re both dating doctors” was, as I recall, something of a bond. I should have asked Jols during what was an emotional and happy interview what his impressions of this different world were back then. I suspect he would say he loved it. That’s Jolyon. A man carrying with him the burden of a terrible childhood tragedy, the death of a sibling, with calm, cheer and impeccable good grace.

Perhaps in the future life of “Heliosphere” there shall be a “Musician Files” compendium. Jols will fit nicely into that. He is also in that smaller sub-section of “doctor-musician”, though many of us in fact do play instruments; classic over-achievers to a man and woman. But Jols wears his talents lightly, truly modest despite substantial gifts. I remember sitting with him in my cave as he expertly worked out the complex finger-picking style to “Don’t Think Twice It’s Alright”, my favourite Dylan. I remember him quietly playing his own brilliant compositions for me in his own home studio. Chance and fate seem to bind us when so many friendships fade or vanish through the twinned tyranny of distance and time. Jolyon’s pro forma was the first that brought me to tears.

Teaser & the Firecat was a gatefold album. On the inside cover was a full face photo of Cat (now Yussuf) staring out – at me, with his lyrics opposite. I would stare at this face through the whole album. On the more ‘up tempo’ songs like Tuesdays Dead I would jump up and dance in my dressing gown. Hitting the record player with passion on the beat of the songs – some years later I listened back and the needle would jump on the main beats from the scratches I had caused.

Introduced me to passion in music.

My dad left my mum a bunch, maybe 15, of records when he left and this was the soundtrack to my childhood. The first two tracks come from that collection. There were some greats. Cat Stevens, Simon & Garfunkle, Carol King, and some fresh fromage from Perry Como. My favourite album of my childhood. I would just sit and listen reading the lyrics and looking at the pictures of Simon & Garfunkle walking in front of each other, wondering what they were thinking.

I would listen to the whole thing motionless for the whole album. My mum would cry at bridge over troubled water but I would keep listening – picking out Art’s harmony parts – taught me the beauty of vocal harmony. I was, of course, the only living boy in New York and the song was about me.