Anne Hartley-Bull was my favourite cousin. People used to say we were very much alike, a bit wild and a bit drunk.
And they were right, we were 80s party animals … both of us could cause a party in an empty house and people like George Best would come knocking on the door. So would Brendan Mullen, the English godfather of punk who died in New York. Very often we’d take the party to Blighty’s or George’s doomed Slack Alice’s, two of Manchester’s trendiest clubs.
Anne was small and fragile and a bit scared about things. But she dressed to kill and was noisier than a rock band in a garage.
She went round the world and finally landed in Australia. Me? I went round the bend and landed in the middle of nowhere.
Things got better for me then …
But I’d lost touch with my favourite cousin. Forty years had gone by without a word.
Funnily enough one thing I’ve kept throughout all these years is a vinyl long player, Close to the Edge by Yes, it’s battered and unplayable now but it’s always had a massive place in my heart because Anne had turned up out-of-the-blue one rainy night at my awful bedsit in Manchester to present it to me with love.
Anne died, more than a decade ago and as far as I know continued partying with style and panache almost to the end.
“Close to the edge now that it’s all over and done …” – Jon Anderson
All the best to Ryan her son and to Jean her sister.
