I lost one this week. He must have been be 51 or 52. Lived with and looked after his mum. You couldn't meet a nicer lad. I always had a chat with him about football and racing (he liked a bet).
Last year he casually mentioned, in his quiet unassuming way, that it was cancer. He'd been ill but thought it might be an ulcer.
He was going to get himself a smartphone and open a betting account for after his surgery and I said I'd help him. He thought he wouldn't be able to get to the bookies.
Next time I saw him, he said they couldn't operate.
It's knocked me sideways a bit and I'm more than used to this sort of stuff.