I saw Prince play at the Hop Farm in July 2011. Apparently he insisted on a stretch limousine to carry him 100 metres from his purple-bedecked dressing room to the stage, but that’s part of what we loved about him. He did his own sound check, slowly conjuring up a sound infinitely better than before. The moment it was perfect, he cried: ‘Hit it!’ And he did. Like nobody else.

He sang like Little Richard.

He danced like James Brown.

And he played guitar like Jimi Hendrix.

I’ll never forget him lying on the piano patting the Afro of one of the most beautiful musicians I’ve ever seen.

Good night sweet Prince, and flights of angels sing…