I heard Malcolm wore a ring in his ear long before they became common place, if he’d also had a parrot I wouldn’t have been at all surprised. Malcolm was one of the few artists at Tollington that like most Grammar Schools in those days, didn’t see art as serious subject. I was a kindred spirit but never close, save for those early years when Malcolm co-opted me to retouch photos of nuclear explosions for a Ban the Bomb march. I wasn’t aware at the time, but in that one day at his house I glimpsed the Aprahamians were a portent of the future, drinking from pottery when most drank from china at a time when Camden Lock was just a lock. I was a Boy Scout and camped three times a year, but on one very rare family holiday I came across Malcolm and the Woodcraft folk on the Isle of Wight. Ditching my family to camp once again, I found the Woodcraft Folk very different, there were girls! The early sixties were not only our metamorphosis into adulthood but the dawning of a fantastic new age and over the years, Malcolm’s exploits came to us as the stuff of myths and legends. I won’t wish the damnation of eternal acquiescence upon him, no artist could be happy resting in peace, just to say he was quite unforgettable and certainly left his mark.