Between 2006 and 2008, I wrote Beg, Steal or Borrow, the authorised biography of Peter Doherty’s band, Babyshambles. As part of that process, I spoke to past and present band members, collaborators, producers, fans and many others. When I interviewed the band’s highly talented former guitarist, Patrick Walden, I was taken aback by his warmth and generosity. After one of our initial meetings, he came with me back to the station, and we walked arm in arm like a couple of old mates. That’s how friendly he was, and he gave his time freely, helping me in whichever way he could.

He was also very fragile emotionally (hardly surprising given the struggles he faced with addiction, and the often unsteady road that many addicts walk on their way to recovery, if indeed they make it – sadly, many don’t). I remember being there when he received the news that his cat had died. As a huge animal lover myself, I related to his devastation. I held his hand as he sobbed, and I remembered how I had sobbed for the loss of my beloved dog over a decade earlier.

He confided in me, and I confided in him, and many of our discussions had little or nothing to do with the book I was writing. As is so often the case when talking to interviewees, we veered off into other directions, and I often resented the need to redirect our conversation back to the matter in hand, because I was so engrossed in our chat. 

When my work on the book was completed, it came as a great sadness not to have regular contact with the band, whose company I had enjoyed, and many of the people around them. Two years is a long time to spend with a relatively small group of people, and to this day I retain a great deal of affection towards them.

I think many ghostwriters will be able to relate to a sense of mourning when their work with the people they collaborate with comes to an end. Amid the sense of achievement in actually finishing a manuscript –  and, if you’re lucky enough to get it published, as I was, relief – there can be a feeling of dejection, knowing that that period of your life has drawn to a close.

Not that I was ever completely cut off from the band and the people closest to them. Via my close friendship with drummer Adam Ficek, I was able to keep abreast of their welfare and what they were up to (and, of course, the media would sporadically report on somebody as well known as Peter Doherty). Adam and Patrick were tight and had been since playing together in the band White Sport, prior to their time together in Babyshambles, so I got to hear about Patrick on a fairly regular basis.

And then, in June 2025, I read on social media that Patrick had died.

I was immediately transported back to the times we shared while I was working on the book, and was overcome with sadness at the loss of this gentle giant who, despite his problems, always found time for a chat when I needed him. Amid my sorrow, I wished that addiction hadn’t had such a hold on him while in the band, and that his extraordinary talent had received the widespread acclaim it deserved (not that those who saw him perform would be left in any doubt as to that talent).

As far as I’m aware, Patrick had managed to stay clean for the overwhelming majority of his life beyond the period that we were in touch. But my conversations with others who’ve overcome their addictions explained that it really is a sense of one day at a time; of taking sobriety step by step, for addiction lurks in the periphery, ready to reassert itself at any point, especially during moments, or periods, when life is particularly troublesome. (Or maybe, conversely, when you’re high on life. I’m certainly no expert, so I can only go on others’ experiences, and try to fill in the gaps of my ignorance about this often devastating illness.)

The point I’m trying to make here is that there are people you work with – in any walk of life, not just when writing about their careers and accompanying highs and lows – that you grow close to. In the same way as people pour their hearts out to one another when in close friendships, deeply personal communications and revelations are made that strengthen that bond.

It’s a bond that, in relation to ghostwriting, can lead to lasting friendships that are cherished and respected. There are other people you don’t see as much as you’d like – or at all – who leave their mark on you, and who you’ll never forget. One of those, in my life, was Patrick Walden. And as I post this blog, just over a year since his life was brought to a premature close, I remember somebody who will remain in my heart until it’s time for me to depart this world.

Thank you, Pat, and RIP my friend.