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Last year, around the time of EGA in Melbs, one of our long term and seriously valuable members died. If you have an Eileen clone, or have drunk of the Eileen clone, you've been a recipient of Ed's work. And probably his generousity. If you ever did an Otways camping trip with him you'll know why his death is such a great loss. I only found out today. We'd go months without speaking or writing then binge on it with hours of gorgeous, insightful, funny, irreverent conversation. We'd have phone drinks and pass out talking about amazing shit. He'd pick everything apart, then I would, and we'd put it all back together and it all made sense. He'd been sick for years- really gut wrenchingly sick, and he hated speaking to anyone when he crook with a pathological loathing I can only be impressed by. So we gave each other space. Only this time I gave him too much. Fuckit. My head is full of Ed stories. There are no favourites, they're all gold. But the type of gold which fades in text. You had to be there. He named the Eileen clone after his mum, and sent that cactus clone round the world. Often twice as much as anyone had paid for, and often for free. When I asked him how his mum felt about the transubstantiation, being symbolically consumed by complete strangers at 75, he shrugged and said "Grouse. Ask her " Nobody grew wasabi like Ed. Reading his old emails is like hearing him speak all over again. All the words got used. The big ones, the small ones, the swear ones, archaic words, technical ones, words used in contexts I'd not heard of and words I had to look up, side by side in every sentence Vale fearless bloke, irreverent gentleman-scholar, hunter, mate, plant fiend. You vainglorious bastard, I loved you like you were torn from my own rib. You brilliant, stubborn, sophisticated, gentle, resourceful, skilled, compassionate, staunch, generous, insane prick. May the next place you're in find you free from all pain