RIP Ivor Cutler

Sadness on hearing of the death of Ivor Cutler yesterday but not shock. That came when I learned he was only 83. The Glaswegian popped up as an old man on the Beatles' Magical Mystery Tour in 1967 and managed to remain old for decades, like a dark counterpart to Peter Pan. He was utterly unique, his albums a melange of bizaare poems and folk ditties. Their humour worked through archaic words carefully pronounced and through the ramming together of images and phrases which didn't belong. "My father would utter an oath he learned from an agricultural magazine he subscribed to." That came from the Life In A Scotch Sitting Room series, a long-running parody of nostalgic family rememberences. My favourite, though, was probably Breasts, which contained some sage advice: "If your breasts are to big, you will fall over. Unless you wear a rucksack."

Incidentally, a friend lived near Ivor in north London and reported that he was a cantankerous old bastard, always moaning about local parking. It's nice when your heroes meet your expectations in real life.