Today would have been Mr Mercury’s 70th birthday.
SEVENTY.
If he was alive, I very much doubt he would be touring with Queen.
He would probably still be their singer, but he would only be making music with them, not performing it.
I would imagine that if he was going to perform, it would be more in terms of opera, as he did with Montserrat Caballé … because it offered him a chance to still command a stage, but without the need to run around in a leotard.
But he isn’t alive. He died at 45.
FORTY FIVE.
Which means I am older than he was when he passed away.
Things like that freak me out to be honest.
Both in terms of comparing what I have achieved in my life versus what he achieved in his [which is stupid, I know] and the reminder that life isn’t forever.
But that’s a post for another day, today I simply say ‘Happy Birthday Mr Mercury’ and thank him for the memories and the music.
God, I’m such a sad bastard.