For my friend Martin Dawson. With love.

Before I started to write this I spent quite a bit of time thinking about how on earth I was going to explain what sort of person Martin was. And how much he meant, not just to me, but to everyone who knew him.

There aren't really enough adjectives in the English language to describe how vital, energetic, passionate and enthusiastic Martin was about everything - friendships, music, work, play...life.

But one phrase in particular kept buzzing round my head; 'he was the life and soul'. The life and soul.

And I got to thinking about how significant those two words in particular were. Life. And soul.

Martin did 'life' well. To everyone who knew him it was obvious he enjoyed life immensely. He consumed it with an enormous appetite. Provoking it like an excited child; 'What else have you got for me? What else have you got for me?'. Until life, like a weary and careworn parent, would have to rouse itself from any temporary respite it might have been seeking. Realising it had no choice but give in to his demands for 'more, more more!'. For only then would Martin be satisfied.

I remember when we all went to New Zealand together for the first time, for the wedding of our friends Steve and Bec. In the days before the wedding they had organised some sightseeing and activities to show us the great Kiwi outdoors. One of the things on the agenda was a bungee jump. A daunting prospect for most. But while everyone was making up their minds and trying to summon the courage to make the leap, Martin had already strapped himself in and was ready to go. An adventure like that was something to be grabbed with both hands. No time for contemplation. No umming and ahhing. Just do it!

It is a testament to Martin's adventurous spirit that I can't quite remember whether he ended up doing one bungee jump or two. It seems entirely plausible that he did two. Just to show life who was the boss.

When we first moved to London and I shared a house with Martin, he wasted no time in getting a job. Those records weren't going to buy themselves and the success he was to enjoy later in his music career was still a few years away at that point. His work ethic was strong even back then, when the rest of us late-teenagers were still sleeping until noon every day. By dint of sheer nepotism I managed to bag myself a job at the same place. A call centre in the middle of London. It was pretty dull work but enlivened on a daily basis by Martin's interesting choices of attire.

No boring, drab suits for him. Oh no. Martin's concept of work wear was a mustard coloured tailored jacket accessorised with bleached, spiky hair tinted bright red at the ends.

One day the CEO of the company visited our office. He took some time to wander through the rows of call operators and he very quickly spotted Martin - the peacock amongst the battery hens - and singled him out for a chat. I was desperately trying to earwig on their conversation in between making my calls. Slightly concerned that Martin might be in trouble for so flagrantly flouting the company policy of grey, grey, grey and more grey.

However by the time I got off the phone Martin clearly had the CEO eating out of his hand. They were laughing and joking, the CEO very much in thrall of Martin's charm. Rather than scolding him, the CEO was delighted at Martin's punk interpretation of office wear. "We should hire more people like you!" he laughed as he shook Martin's hand. And I remember feeling so proud. So proud that he was my friend. I wanted to tell everyone. To lean across to the person at the desk in front of me, who was no doubt earwigging too, and boast 'I know him'.

I still feel like that.

But a Tiggerish capacity for fun and thrills was only one side of Martin. He was also very mindful; very emotionally and spiritually intelligent. He had a gentle soul. And he shared this side of himself generously too. He wanted to understand everything. To interrogate it; pull it apart, examine it, put it back together in a way that made sense. From the technicality of music theory to the philosophy of religion, no subject escaped the scrutiny of Martin's keen intellect.

His talent for music and performance was closely interwoven with this thoughtfulness. I remember when he sent me his first album. I put in my earphones and gave the whole thing a listen in one go. And I was surprised at how moved I was by his music. By how good he was. But more than anything I was surprised at myself for seemingly having underestimated him. Because although I never doubted my friend's brilliance, he proved himself to be just that bit more brilliant than I ever knew. In retrospect, I suppose that shouldn't have surprised me at all.

But now Martin's life is over. He has finished living it. And although he finished living it too soon, it is impossible to harbour any regrets for a life lived so well. What's not to celebrate? What's not to be thankful for? I only hope I can do his memory justice by living even just half as vibrantly as he did.

Martin's soul is still very much present. In our thoughts, in our memories, in his music. Just like the image that remains when you close your eyes after looking at a bright, brilliant light.

He was the life and soul and we loved him.

As the poet Phillip Larkin wrote: what will survive of us is love.

And it does now. And it will forever.