I didn’t immediately jump on board the Madchester bandwagon. But I once spent an interesting three days in Barcelona trying to talk to Shaun Ryder.
I first encountered him in Park Güell, where he was shooting a video. Or, to be more precise, puffing away on top of a Gaudí sculpture engulfed in a cloud of skunk.

We made our introductions, but Sean decided he wasn’t in the mood to talk. I was unconcerned as we were both going to be there for two more days.

The next day we sat down together outside a café in the Barri Gòtic and were about to begin chatting when he stood up unsteadily and, without a word, wandered off like an elderly gent with dementia.

He did not return until late that night but no one seemed surprised at his prolonged and unexplained absence.”He does that, does Sean,” explained his manager, a wily Mancunian called Perry.

On the third and final day, less than an hour before we were due to head to the airport to fly home, I was summoned to the beach, where Sean was finishing filming his video.

He emerged from a trailer, apparently fortified by a cocktail of methadone and vodka, and reintroduced himself with an enthusiasm that suggested he had no recollection of having met me before.

He then chatted away amiably, volubly and surprisingly coherently until I was in danger of missing my flight. He seemed like a lovely bloke, and much brighter than I had imagined.

These days I only ever see him on Gogglebox where his double act with Bez provides constant amusement. I imagine next week will be difficult for him following the sad death of his brother and erstwhile bass guitarist in The Happy Mondays.

RIP Paul Ryder.