At the back end of 2003, Jess and I bought a couple of round the world plane tickets so we could hang out in real life with some of the weirdos we’d met on the Internet over the last couple of years. We spent three months travelling, 5 weeks Amtraking the US then Mexico, Australia and Japan. One hell of a trip. Along the way we crashed with people that we had only known as screen names. Some were from the message board of the now defunct zine Punk Planet. Back in the day we probably spent more time than was good for us on those boards.

Early 2004 and we’re in Perth. I’m not sure it was the highlight of the trip but its certainly the most memorable leg. We’re staying with Johnny Hicks and things are fucked up. There’s a lot of alcohol, a fair bit of blood (more if you include the aftermath of the murder we witnessed), one trip to the ER and what can only be described as a drunken wrestling match in which I had to pin Johnny to the floor lest he punch me out. Force of nature. The night before I’d put him in the recovery position after he had a seizure and split his head open (that wasn’t the ER trip by the way). We met his brother Jeremy (also in a band) and spent an evening watching horror films until it was time to grab a cab – Johnny then proceeded to tell the driver the story of how he lost his virginity in lieu of a tip.

That’s just scratching the surface.

Johnny was the most self destructive person I ever met. But I was still shocked to get the news today that he had died.

I’m writing this with two empty tumblers of Scotch and a shit load of bad punk music.

I got a couple of emails from Johnny at the beginning of the month. We hadn’t spoken for a while and by the end of the exchange he was signed up for Twitter. His last update reads:

Well I don’t think I could survive turning 39 every day. Owwwwwwwwww

Funny fucker.

That was July 14th. He had a massive epileptic fit on the morning of the 19th and was gone.

But in January 2004 we’re sitting by a lake for a lift that never came. We’re sat on a case of beer that’s getting smaller by the hour and talking shit. One of us is about to get attacked by a spider. Life is good.

His last email to me signs off with the line Be all you can be.

Johnny always wore his heart on his sleeve. There was a lot of bluster, but you didn’t have to get to know him very well to understand what a sweetheart he was. He didn’t make it easy to be his friend, but the experience was worth the occasional split lip and shouting session. He was my friend.

He had a lot. They’re raising drinks and calling him names over on his Facebook page right now and that’s where I found this:

You can’t get more punk rock than playing drums in a shop window being filmed on a security camera.

Most people won’t notice, but trust me… the world just got a little less interesting.