Little Jeff RIP

Yesterday the sad news from Newcastle reached me that Little Jeff had died of a heart attack on Monday.

"Legend" is a word bandied about with far too little care and attention, but it certainly applied to Jeff.

Short of stature and with a pronounced limp, thick-lensed specs and hair down his back, Little Jeff was the DJ who made Saturday nights at the Mayfair so great. Stood on the stage barely able to see over his decks, he used to introduce nearly every record in his inimitable Geordie voice which, to me, became as synonymous with rock and metal as that of Tommy Vance: "Here's Korn for aal ye radgey bastads!"

On one particularly drunken visit, I encountered him at the bar and was only too happy to send him back stagewards with a new bottle of Dog, a small token of my appreciation and admiration of his work.

Following the Mayfair's sad demise he found a new home in Cuba Cuba, and that's where I last saw (and heard) him, about two years ago. On that occasion he came out with the immortal line, uttered with real gusto and enthusiasm: "Would so-and-so go to the foyer - your friend has been hospitalised, they're not very well! Here's Metallica!"

Like many a Geordie, Jeff's other passion was football. When not keeping pissed-up metallers entertained he could often be spotted on match days in and around St James's Park. It just so happens I'm "gannin yem" tomorrow, and I'll be going to the match on Saturday. There won't be a minute's silence, but there fucking well should be.

RIP Jeff. You'll have the Big Man Upstairs listening to Carcass and Slayer before long, nee botha.

The only consolation is the knowledge that for every Jeff that shuffles off this mortal coil, somewhere else someone far more deserving is breathing their last. So three cheers for the news that that horrible old cunt John Tyndall, founder of the BNP, has done the decent thing and died. Good riddance.