By Benedict Tatham

Ode to a friendship.

Recently, Tristan and I parted ways.

Splitting was hard. Especially since we’ve been best of mates since the beginning. Knowing we’ve shed blood, sweat and tears over so much and for what?

Well, I don’t believe for a second that a moment of that time was wasted. 

Over the last eight months we’ve been through it all. The dramas have been epic. 

First D&AD, then Cannes, working through the night and doing our best to keep each other sane in that mad and frightening rush for the deadline.  

Then the Euros song. Probably the best day of the year for both of us.

Getting to record in a studio with some Manchester geezer, with a bunch of beers having a laugh. 

Then running down Coldharbour lane to parade our way down Brixton high street, chanting the tune for anyone who cared to listen.

This year has been one of the biggest challenges I’ve faced in my life so far. However pathetic that may seem on a grand scale, it’s my small struggle and I can only reflect on that.

I know for Tristan it’s been even harder. Boy have we grown as men and learnt a hell of a lot about ourselves and each other along the way.

But despite all that we’ve been through, as much as we would like to ignore it, deep down we both new our book was lacking. 

And it wasn’t because we weren’t working hard. Boy were we working hard. 

But it had been lacking, not just for a few weeks, but for months. 

The sad reality is that our book determines our future and something had to give.

I want to tip my hat off to that boy. He fights with sheer intensity and raw adrenaline. 

Trist, here’s to this insane, amazing, intense, and small chapter in our lives, careers, and friendship.

p.s big up Dead Letters.