To music-lovers, particularly teenagers, from four generations, he was the fourth emergency service. Even now, in an era of MTV2 and Radio 6, there still isn’t anywhere you can find the stuff Peel would play — a unique combination of roots reggae, Belgian gabba, progressive folk and Bogshed. Back in the late Eighties, when I came into my adolescence, finding Peel’s late-night show was like finding an amazing nightclub — one that you could access from the privacy of your bed. I joined a three-decades-long ancestry of adolescents huddled under their duvets on a cold night with their headphones and Peel.

It wasn’t a club one could join without some manner of initiation, however. The very first time I “found” John Peel, late at night in the dark, he played a song that consisted of three people screaming “There’s a man outside/THERE’S A MAN OUTSIDE” over a terrifying speed-metal accompaniment. And when I looked out of the window, standing outside out house at midnight, there was a man outside! I couldn’t sleep for two hours, from the terror. I’d only ever listened to The Hollies and Tears for Fears before. I thought Peel might actually be channelling the Devil.

Perhaps because Peel bonded his audience to him with this effective mixture of fear, respect and joy, his “people” — fans is too mindless a word for those who had a soft spot for Peel — felt particular gratitude and fondness for him. Often, for a putative hipster stuck in Norfolk, or Walsall, or Ayr, he was the only person “like” them that they “knew”. His voice acted as a meeting place; he ran an almost personalised matchmaking service between bands and their future audiences. This passing is the kind of thing one would not be unreasonable in feeling somewhat mawkish about, as Peel himself would say. Before saying, “And now, Bogshed.”

As to what kind of memorial he should have, there have already been many suggestions - and, unusually for this kind of thing, they’ve all been fitting, and not at any point “a huge special fountain”. A poster on The Fall’s website suggested that, rather than a minute’s silence, there should be a minute of noise, as it’s “What Peel would have wanted”. And there are already rumours that there will be a John Peel Stage at Glastonbury next year — that either the Pyramid Stage will be re-named after him, and Pink Floyd, friends whom he long championed, will headline on it, or that it would be a smaller stage for the kind of new bands that always got Peel so excited.

Personally, I like the idea of new bands laying their debut singles outside Broadcasting House, in the manner of a floral tribute. The chances are, no one else will play them now. It would be a fittingly morose sight to see them stretching, silent, down Regent Street.

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