On 10th January, at 7am, I was at a bus stop near Manchester Airport, waiting and browsing the news on my phone. The lead story on the Guardian website stopped me in my tracks. David Bowie was dead. My jaw dropped, and – I am unashamed to say – I shed a tear or two. A man who had been a constant in my ears for over 40 years, like a hand-me-down jumper from both of my elder brothers.