IT'S JIMI, I MEAN RITCHIE

My Tourette's friend always refers to him as "Art Garfunkel Brow", but to me he's always been Jimi, as in Hendrix.

Seeing a Jackson 5-style afro in the mostly white town where I live means "Jimi" (whose actual name is Ritchie) is easily distinguishable from the locals. And yet, with the soft South West lilt of his voice, he has an unmistakable quality of the region that we share. And why not? I'm not expecting "Hey Joe", "Voodoo Child", or "The Wind Cries Mary" every time he opens his mouth, though I have had to do a double take at times, almost believing Hendrix has been resurrected from the dead whenever I see him.

A poetry-loving (especially Seamus Heaney), deep-thinking, deep-feeling man, Ritchie appears in my life from time to time like a healer. A Manchester United supporter to boot, he reminds me, with a concerned look or a clean dap, that he is much like family, given the way we've travelled through time together in the same town all these years.

I've noticed an unspoken bond with people that develops through time, a form of magic: a slowly solidifying connection forged through the ritual of walking the local streets, through all seasons, through the days, weeks, years, and decades of our lives. Not a lot needs to be said; no extraneous exposition, just the routine familiarity of inhabiting the same environment and recognising our endurance as hobbit-like creatures yet to be called to adventure.

Although if Jimi, I mean Ritchie, were a character from Lord of the Rings, he would be an Ent, I reckon. He has that ancient quality of longevity, memory, rootedness, and a deep relationship with time, like someone unafraid of their own mortality.

Maybe I'm projecting. I'm sure Jimi, I mean Ritchie, has his worries, but whenever I catch his glance or clasp his hand, I feel somehow reset by his unique energy.

Maybe in the same way people felt when they first heard Hendrix burst onto the scene with his musical magic.

Just the other day, Jimi, I mean Ritchie, said nothing more to me than, "Louis Prima. Pennies From Heaven. You need to play it right away," and pointed at me in earnest, as if I might upset the universe if I didn't.

Of course I went and played it.

You don't fuck around when Jimi, I mean Ritchie, is talking straight to your soul.