Sad news about the health of one of my favourite guitar slingers has brought even sadder confirmation about the darker side of human nature.
The scary-eyed former Doctor Feelgood six-stringer, who now resembles a telecaster-wielding mad professor, has been a major influence on my own guitar-fuelled musical odyssey of the last decade.
When he wasn’t prowling the stage like a stop motion Conrad Veidt from silent horror ‘The Cabinet of Dr Caligari’, he was writing songs like ‘Back in the Night’ - arguably the best British blues song of all time.
And now he’s about to unplug his curly red liquorice guitar lead for the last time after he does a real honest to goodness farewell tour.
And it’s that farewell tour that has me fuming.
Scrawny vulture-like ticket touts have cashed in on Wilko’s situation, buying up shedloads of tickets before punting them on to fans at ridiculously inflated prices.
Like other opportunistic leeches on society, they have taken advantage of a situation to make a mint.
May they rot in fiery hell for their legal and above-board crimes.
Talking about rotting in hell, it looks like I’ll be heading there too.
Last week I received a right dressing down for a jovial article I wrote about Christian rock group Super Hero. I was even called a blasphemer.
Now I know how Ozzy Osborne felt.
I think the band would have been pleased with the publicity and God would have had a good laugh - he obviously has a good sense of humour if he created human beings like me.