RIP Peter Fonda. I watched you in action in the Easy Rider film in an Edinburgh (as in Scotland) theatre where my long-long hair rested over the back of my theater seat and where the young guy behind me rested his knees against the back of my seat and my hair. He would not remove his knees or let my hair go when I requested — in total 60s rebellious fashion. So there I was, captive to the film. And so it goes, doesn’t it? It’s the little things we remember. Ride on, Peter  [And FU, you Edinburgh prick!]