Like most of the planet, we’ve spent the last few weeks weeping hysterically along to the words of Dirty Diana, or turning up at beat poetry nights to deliver a sobbed version of Billie Jean with a simple bass drum accompaniment.
Our grief, it seemed, was never going to end. At one point we even considered having Michael Jackson‘s strange clown face tattooed onto our own faces, so that we could spend the rest of our lives singing Man in the Mirror in front of a mirror. To the man in the mirror.
And then we realised two things. Firstly, we realised that we prefer Prince. Secondly, there are lots of other Jacksons to fall in love with. “Could one of them replace Michael?” we whispered to a passing old man. His silence told us everything we needed to know. Yes. One of them could. But which one?
