Normally, I do not pick up my mobile when I don’t recognise the number. Providentially, I did so just after midday on Monday 12 November 2018. Upon answering, I recognised the mild Geordie accent immediately, but I had never heard this voice sound so sad before.
‘Stuart, its Phil here from the club. I’ve got some bad news I’m afraid. … Rob died last night. Could you please come in tomorrow to be there when I tell everyone?’
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