Ian Noble Tribute
  • Adi Noble Funeral Eulogy
  • In the past few weeks I have tried many times to find the words or even a single word to describe how I feel or what I feel and nothing seems to fit. However, one word returns again and again, a word often used by both Ian and I, a word all too fitting, an expletive.

    This will come as no surprise to you all, knowing Ian as we do. Ian could swear like no other, he could couple curse words and stitch obscenity into the woven cloth of a true foul mouthed poet laureate of profanity, often using the same word repeated but said slightly differently and with the letter ‘y’ on the end. If you were lucky enough to hear his lecture on the wire’s Dominic West and Wendell Pierce’s scene – 44 uses of a single swear word, as proof as you can get of modern day poetry.

    So this word I use, and I don’t use it lightly, is Clusterfuck, because this is what it is, a messed-up situation, an army term for a series of fuck-ups or one large catastrophe, and I make no apologies for the use of this word.

    For the loss of my brother is hard to measure in normal terms.

    The co-founder of so many bands – The Jimberley Leg Sisters – our country band, Dänger – our German Death Metal band and our genre defying Text Pistols, where we simply stood on stage texting Sex Pistols lyrics to one another for 30 minutes, to name but a few. All legends in their own lunchtime, all formed, sold out and split-up by closing time.

    My brother – the most fantastic front room wrestler – a deft hand at the purple-nurple, a Kendo Nagasaki of the Horse Pinch and a grand master of the Chinese burn. The mere mention of his sleeper hold was enough to render me to tears. The Pele of the professional foul. My brother the co-conspirator, my brother my enabler, the torch carrier, corner fighter, the Royal Standard Bearer for our house of mischief. 

    The self medicator, the pioneer, the Columbus of all the best music, discoverer of ‘Very Cool Things’, the figurehead of Fun, the knocker-off of very tall hats, the line-crosser, the oracle, the Best, the Brogue wearing denim enthusing dandy lion, the collector, who put the eye in the detail, the poster, the badge and list maker. Mein Camp leader, the dancer, the drinker, the bed-time story reader, the dreamer, the romantic humanitarian, the Clash fan, the Danny to my Kylie, sharp as a razor, smart as a whip, the good looking one, the Giggler, the Joker, the Chuckler, the Punk Rock warhorse, the bloke in the pub, as Henry Hill would say a ‘goodfella’, the Pompey fan, the guy on the train, the geezer on the platform, the Leader, the Mentor, the Teacher, the Lecturer, the Friend, the Colleague, the Renaissance Man, the Polymath, the Graphic Designer, the All Round Good Egg, the Big Man, the great Social Leveller, my Compardre, my Amigo, my Son, my Dad, my Husband, my Uncle, my Brother-in-Law, my Cousin.

    If we only had one more day we would still be drunk by noon, it has been an honour to ride with you Kemosabe, Stay golden pony boy, The Brother …
    My Brother. X

    Adi Noble
    Barstool
    Hurtsville U.K.