Subversive as ever, John Lydon equaled (the art of) writing love songs to entering the domain of big business. Nothing more commercial than a love song. Only fitting that PIL’s biggest hit was ‘this is not a love song’. Shows the irony of life, for some people the humour of the bearded man above.

The first is true, the second debatable. He wouldn’t have allowed my father to die. Not after only 77 years.

I remember how happy he was when he returned from a business trip to Boston, somewhere in the early 80’s. Partially because he hated flying and survived the trip, but also because he found and bought the White Album, one of his favourite Beatles albums. Knowing that was not enough to suppress my egoism. I quickly adopted the album and practically added it to my own collection.

Towards the end of the 80’s a friend borrowed it, together with King Crimson’s ‘In the court of the crimson king’. In return, I got the first two albums of The Sound. Fair deal and still acceptable if I ever tried to get my father’s album back. I didn’t.

Almost 30 years later, when my father was already dying, my mother told me that all those years he occasionally complained that I never returned his album. Never a word to me. I finally felt shame. In a last attempt I contacted my friend and tried to get the album back. He didn’t have it anymore; thrown away or forgotten and just lost during those 30 years.

A few days before my father’s death I bought the White Album myself and gave it to him. In a happy, Christmas season, Hollywood version of reality, he would have smiled and all would have been forgiven. Unfortunately, Hollywood doesn’t really exist. He just looked at me and asked me why I gave it to him 2 days before his death.