Like most of his fans, I’ve never met David Bowie.
For me, at least, not knowing the man - and not quite “getting” all of his music - was half the attraction.
His songs have always been part of my life.
First, as spinning vinyl records on my mum’s old record machine.
Then cassette tapes, rewound and replayed so many times on car trips that the titles became barely visible.
And finally, as the enduring number one playlist on the iPod I carry with me every day.
Unintentionally, and unnoticed until today, Bowie has been the soundtrack to my life as a foreign correspondent - joining me on the flight to London and on virtually every assignment since.
His sudden death was, not surprisingly, hardest felt here, in Great Britain, where we woke to the news early Monday morning.
In his old neighbourhood, Brixton, in the city’s south, the black and white letters adorning the iconic Ritzy Picturehouse spelt out how those gathering on the street below were feeling: “David Bowie. Our Brixton Boy. RIP”.
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The pile of flowers and handwritten notes grew and grew at the famous Bowie mural, close to his childhood home, and plans were immediately made for a street party to celebrate his life and music.
Hundreds braved the winter chill to gather, and dance, around hurriedly assembled speakers.
“What can you say?” sobs one fan. “Earth is only big enough for one David Bowie… there will never be another.”
In this city, celebrities, obsessed with trying to keep ahead of the trend, Bowie’s greatness endures.
"Most mornings, commuters hurry, their heads down, in silence. Not today."
Most mornings, commuters hurry, their heads down, in silence.
Not today.
“Bowie’s gone! Can you believe it? BOWIE!” an exasperated neighbour asks me in the lift.
“I’m gutted!”
The unspoken, but fiercely adhered to rules about not speaking with strangers, are disregarded on the underground, too.
Noticing a fellow commuter sobbing, a passenger leans across our carriage to ask the woman if she is alright.
At first an awkward silence, followed by a confession.
“I’m a bit upset about David Bowie” she says, giggling with embarrassment and apologising "for being silly”.
“Don’t worry” the businessman smiles reassuringly, "I was a bit emotional myself this morning when I heard the news”.
Other passengers nod in agreement.
One woman turns around the screen of her MP3 player to reveal the album cover of Hunky Dory, pulling out her headphones to declare “his early tracks were his best”.
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The couple next to me reveal their favourite Bowie song: Space Oddity.
Before I know it, I’ve chimed in, admitting to having had goosebumps when British athletes marched into the Olympic Stadium to Heroes in 2012.
“You think someone like Bowie will live forever,” says the New Zealander barista at my local coffee shop.
“Totally” agrees his American colleague.
“You think of him as always being twenty”
Overhearing our conversation, a Scottish couple tells me they met at a David Bowie gig in Glasgow in the seventies.
“We’ve been married forty years now… and I was in love with Bowie before him!” the woman laughs, pointing at her husband.
“It’s true” he says, admitting how he and his footy mates used to style themselves on Bowie’s alter ego Ziggy Stardust to impress the girls.
“I can’t help but laugh as the entire refrigerated section (myself included) shouts 'let’s dance!' right on cue.”
“Bowie made different, cool.
“He had confidence like nothing we’d ever known.”
Bowie is even blaring in my local supermarket.
I can’t help but laugh as the entire refrigerated section (myself included) shouts “let’s dance!” right on cue.
Bowie’s twenty-fifth album Blackstar was released just two days before his death, on his 69th birthday.
It is almost certain to top international charts.
As darkness falls and the city begins to empty, the words “Rest in Peace David Bowie” beam from the top of BT Tower.
Across Britain, people are inviting David Bowie into their homes, their streets, their lives, just as they’ve done for six decades, and will continue to do for many more.
Awards and accolades are one sign of success.
Moving Londoners to openly talk about their emotions on a drizzly Monday morning is proof enough for me of Bowie’s brilliance, the likes of which, we are unlikely to see repeated in our lifetime.
Brett Mason has been based in London since 2010
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