“I’d seen Syd Barrett in 1967 when I was fifteen years of age. I remember looking at him and, even though he was clearly in a bad state, they weren’t even playing one of his songs live and he was just standing there and retuning his guitar for about fifteen minutes - but he had such incredible charisma…when I started writing for Friendz, which would have been five years later, I met him. He was being managed by the guy who was the so-called financial assistant at Friendz. He was still very good-looking, but very haunted, unforgettably haunted. His eyes were kind of scary to look at. I remember asking him, “Syd, I hear you’re getting a group together.” And he said, “I ate eggs and bacon for breakfast this morning,” in this sort of whisper. I asked him again what he had for breakfast and he said, “I’m sorry, I don’t speak French,” and then he just walked out of the room.”—
This has been one of the darkest, longest weeks of my life. I got some pretty bad news, but I’m still waiting for THE actual bad news. I don’t really know what to do about it. I mean, I’m gonna do whatever I’m told to do, but I’m sure as hell my life is gonna change so much after that. I’m so scared.