Now you're not around this old town.

In January 1986, I was 7 ¼ years old. My main hobbies at the time were running about and playing "the tripping up game" which, along with Robert and Emmet Smith, I co-created. My favourite TV programs involved mice of the Finger and Danger variety and, to my eternal shame, T.J. Hooker.

Although the close personal friend 4 often complains about my inability to perform a simple 60 second task without first spending 5 minutes deciding what CD to listen to, as a 7 year old I didn't have any great love for music. Mammy Ambassador preferred the dulcet tones of Uncle Gaybo while Daddy Ambassador liked listening to Don Williams singing about bread, anchors and best friends - all of which held little interest for me. The death of Phil Lynott on January 4th 1986 would, therefore, have gone unnoticed by a 7 ¼ year old ambassador.

Today is the 22nd anniversary of Lynott's passing. I had intended to mark the occasion by posting my thoughts on Lynott and the music of Thin Lizzy but alas, after roughly 2 hours of trying, I have decided that I lack the required literary skill and musical talent to do so. I fear that to even attempt as much would be a disservice to both subjects.

Suffice to say, today I will be mostly listening to Thin Lizzy.

R.I.P.