14/06/2026
Dear Gaz,
I know what you're thinking.
"Scaramouche, Scaramouche, will you do the Fandango?"
Only if there are thunderbolts and lightning, and quite honestly Gaz - they're still very, very frightening. Besides, if we start quoting every lyric rattling around in your head, we'll be here until Buddy has built a motorbike visible to the human eye - and given that we spent an entire week riding an imaginary one I wouldn’t make any evening plans.
Today you're stepping onto a different kind of stage and firstly I’m sorry I can’t be there - invite must have got lost in Globalpost.
I’m writing to remind you of something.
A while back I met this slightly odd dreamer who heard voices nobody else could hear and talked about music with the enthusiasm of a man who had absolutely no idea how weird he sounded.
To be fair, you were weird.
Still are, actually.
But somehow that strange, stubborn, occasionally bewildered dreamer ended up becoming the guy people followed.
You challenged Globalsoft.
You found the music.
You gave the Bohemians hope.
You survived Killer Queen.
And, perhaps most impressively, you survived me. Just.
Not everyone gets to save rock 'n' roll and dodge sarcasm at the same time.
So whether you leave tonight carrying an award, a certificate, or simply the lingering taste of questionable prosecco, remember this:
Awards recognise achievement.
Legends become part of the story.
And stories are what people remember.
So walk in there today with your head held high, your shoulders back, and your inner Freddie turned up well beyond the recommended volume limit.
Because whatever happens, you'll always be the awkward, determined, rock-obsessed dreamer who reminded us all that somebody, somewhere, still wants to break free.
Good luck, you can do this thing Gaz! Do it for your baby, baby.
Love,
Scaramouche
P.S. If you win, for the love of rock Gaz - be gracious
P.P.S. If you lose, stare thoughtfully into the distance and say, "The real prize was the restoration of rock."
P.P.P.S. Nobody will believe that.
P.P.P.P.S. Take the trophy home anyway. And enjoy the lukewarm prosecco.
