I must be the only person in the world with a 5ft-high painting of American saxophonist Eddie Cleanhead Vinson. To tell the truth, before I bought the painting, I'd never heard of him. It was originally created as part of the degree-portfolio of a former friend who was studying to be an art teacher.
Over the weekend in 1988 that Eddie died, I was in Wales. When I got back to Bradford, a lead strip in a valley in my roof had split and rainwater had leaked in ... it soaked his painting.
I later related this tale when talking about the supernatural with a woman at work who had psychic abilities. Then I got a phone call from her friend in Brighouse, a lady who said that her late husband had once played in Eddie's band for a European tour. She passed on to me a cassette copy of one of that tour's unissued live numbers.
Eddie is still playing, standing proud on my bedroom wall.