I was away most of last weekend (as you can read in my blog), and only just heard yesterday that John Hughes died.  John Hughes, the man who directed and wrote several seminal films of the 80s and 90s, and who gave me my first crush (Ferris Bueller).  He was only 59, and they believe he died of a heart attack while out taking a walk. 

I was a bit young in the 80s to appreciate some of his earlier work, but believe me, I appreciated it later. Whilst in university, some friends and I decided to form an 80s film appreciation club, called ‘Troy’s Bucket’, after the line in Goonies.  Many of John Hughes’ films were already favourites, but took on a new light as we poured over their meaning.  Well, the club didn’t really take off (if I’m honest, we didn’t really DO much), but the memory and sentiment remain.  We all loved John Hughes. Many people look at his ‘brat pack’ phase as trivial, but those of us who related knew differently.  We were teenagers once who felt lost, betrayed, out-of-place, and slightly oppressed by teachers, parents, and bullies.  He knew that.  He showed that to the world. It may not be something to win a Nobel Prize, but it won the hearts of Troy’s Bucket and many others, I’m sure.

So, we salute John.  Punch your fist into the air in memoriam.

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