It is almost a year since the tragic news of Joeys death was transmitted to a stunned world. We all know where we were when we heard the news, and we each have a story to tell. This is mine.

I had just returned from the Skerries road races, the first to be held in the rain in living memory, when I heard the news on the TV. I was in my sitting room on my own at the time, recovering from a hectic time in the yacht bar the night before. I was devastated that such a thing could have happened. It was like someone had switched a light off in my heart. I looked down and saw the 2000 Skerries programme I had bought two days before. I flicked it open and looked at Joeys name on the entry lists. His decision to ride in Estonia had been a last-minute one, and it made it more difficult to get my head around what had happened.

I hated the Estonians at that moment. I hated their crappy circuit, and everything else about them. It wasn't their fault of course, but it felt better to be able to blame someone at the time. I went through the next few days in a daze, and on the day that Joey was flown into Dublin airport, I was there with my friends to touch the coffin and say, "thanks for everything Joey". But nothing I did made it any better.

In two weeks it will be the first anniversary of Joeys death, and I for one will grieve as I did on that awful day in 2000. But I will try to celebrate his life as well.

God bless you Joey, there will never be another like you.