So, yesterday, 1st February 2026, a large group of us gathered to commemorate the life of our friend Tristan who was suddenly and bafflingly taken from us late last year.

Obviously, it was a tough one. Tiring and emotional, but also oddly beautiful as those who loved him gathered to laugh and pay tribute to someone who was truly one of a kind.

In describing him, the word “chaotic” came up a lot, because – frankly – he really was. His mind was a sort of synaptic analogue of Brownian motion and he was never knowingly on time for anything. This could, of course, be deeply frustrating – but always you’d find that any frustration would melt away whenever he finally bounced into the room like, as some put it, an enthusiastic puppy (albeit generally with less face-licking).

But for the most part what I’ll remember is his enthusiasm and curiosity. How we randomly discovered we both felt Doctor Who’s ‘Time Heist\ was underrated, resulting in us drunkenly watching it one night and admitting to some extremely salacious thoughts about Jonathan Bailey (before such thoughts were properly fashionable). His fascination and enjoyment of Blackadder and ‘Allo ‘Allo; shows which he was too young to have encountered at the time, but elicited gales of laughter when he was exposed to them. Plus there was our shared love of Terry Pratchett, and our mutual mild annoyance with the varying quality of the Sky TV adaptations.

I was reminded yesterday – for some reason – of the time I felt compelled to drag him out of our way between shows at the Edinburgh Fringe to have him see Victoria Street for real, ultimately being rewarded with his delight at standing in one of the locations used for Good Omens. There’s how incredibly supportive and encouraging he was of my writing efforts. And, of course, his revelling in the inappropriate and ridiculous with that booming machine-gun laugh.

It’s not goodbye. He touched too many lives for him to ever truly be gone. The stories will continue to be told and I for one can’t keep count of the number of times since I’ve thought of something I’d want to share with him and see him react to. There’s sadness, of course, at realising that chance has gone, but the pain is somewhat eased by picturing his response anyway.

Rest well, you glorious nut-job, you.

Tristan Fear. 15 May 1995 to 30th November 2025. Survived by his loving partner David White, and the hundreds of lives he touched.