I met Ann Marie and her partner Benjie for the first time in the late 1980s when I volunteered at the Sussex AIDS Centre & Helpline. The pair were inseparable and generally nocturnal, but sometimes they’d be seen strolling along St James’s Street making eyes turn as they passed. Benjie clearly modelled himself on Jimi Hendrix whilst Ann Marie was pure Goth with a slim figure and translucent porcelain skin. You could be sure they'd be the first at the chemist for their Methadone script. Their basement flat on Elm Grove was an Aladdin’s cave festooned with trinkets and fabric, shrouded by curtains which rarely opened. A chaotic space which echoed their lives. It’s no secret that the pair struggled with addiction but they were devoted to each other and somehow managed to survive for a while at least. Due to their vulnerability and poor health, Ann Marie and Benjie were rehoused in a flat on Tyson Place in Kemptown where Avee Isofa Holmes also lived at the time. She remembers Ann Marie as a ‘lovely serene quiet soul’ who was rarely seen unless she needed to borrow shampoo. Ann Marie’s family often visited from Ireland but despaired at her circumstances and lifestyle. Her ravaged immune system struggled with injection related wounds and as a result she was plagued by infections which would eventually prove too much for her. Ann Marie died in hospital in October 1991. Wolf Impala - a poem by Ann Marie published in the the Sussex AIDS Centre Newsletter (1991) In the cave of my brain where pulps a green throbbing light edges stretching bursting at my lovers contact and precious heart in the centre gold shafts oozing juice lubricating my hard strong magical thoughts idealism strikes but pain remains in the cave of my brain singing a sweet backward ballad I feel as many as every human living as mirrored pupiled eyes stare as the globe throws itself smashing against my brains walls a fucking elegant unpolish bang as different countrys continents races feel the impact of the cacophony of billions united inside the cave of my brain I ache an orgasm of love for all

I first met Paul Woodward (also known as Morticia) at the Our House Body Positive premises in Circus Street. Paul’s partner was also called Paul, so we called him Kim to avoid confusion. They were always together and came to OHBP most days. It was handy for them as they'd recently moved into a flat nearby on Ashton Rise. We became good friends because Kim was a hair stylist, and I needed a new one as the person who’d been doing my hair had crossed the rainbow bridge. Paul and Kim always came to my flat together. Paul wasn't 100% well and he’d had about eight operations for a collapsed lung at different times. Despite this he continued to chain smoke which really didn't help. The three of us did a Millinery course together after I said I was fed up with the gay community making better hats than me. We also used to go out a lot together as they had a car. They took me on holiday to a farm in Somerset once as a birthday present and lavished me with some beautiful gifts. Paul was not very well on holiday, but he still insisted on doing the cooking despite his poor sight which was deteriorating rapidly. I suggested he took up pottery so he could sense things and learn to feel with his hands better which he seemed to enjoy. There was a time when I was over in Rhodes seeing my daughter which coincided with a cruise they were on. Their ship docked at Mandraki Harbour for the day and I met them to show them around the old city. By this time Paul was using a white stick. As we strolled along with our arms linked, everyone seemed to be staring which made us all feel really uncomfortable, but we still had a memorable day. I heard that Paul crossed the rainbow bridge in 2008. Sadly, I’d lost touch with them as I was in Kenya by then, but I did send Kim a letter of condolence. Words by Avee Isofa Holmes

Tony Robinson was a very special friend. We met on my first evening as a trainee at the Sussex AIDS Helpline in the summer of 1987. We received lots of calls in those early days. Tony and I really hit it off from the beginning and it turned out we lived just a couple of minutes away from each other. After about a week of training, one night Tony asked me to answer the phone. I didn’t think I was ready, but I did it and it went well. One day he said he admired me because I oozed confidence, but he was the one who gave me my confidence. Tony and his partner lived in Upper rock Gardens next to St. Mary’s Church and I was at Tyson Place (affectionately known as ‘Fairy Towers’). He worked for the Probation service and commuted to London where his job was to read all the newspapers every day. He was a very quiet person with a lovely gentle personality, and originally from Milton Keynes, where his mother still lived. She knew he was gay, but wasn’t happy about it, so he rarely visited because he couldn’t tell her he was HIV+. Tony contracted Pneumocystis pneumonia (PCP) and was given a Nebuliser which he kept at my place because I had a balcony and we could open the door and put the hose outside. This was a daily routine in the afternoon after he’d finished work. I started working at BBC Radio Sussex on a two-year contract through the job opportunity scheme. Tony met me after work one day at 1pm carrying a lovely wicker picnic basket and told me we were going to Queens Park for the afternoon. We sat down on the grass and to my amazement he proceeded to lay out the Clarice Cliff plates and finery. Tony was so camp, but in a quiet way. He’d regularly come around to my place armed with a large bottle of Baileys, sometimes close to tears if there’d been a row, and we'd go through the whole bottle in one evening. Tony loved to travel and once arranged for my daughter Giselle and I to travel to Pefkos in Rhodes. We loved it and Giselle met someone and ended up living there for eleven years. The last time he went on holiday was to Bali. I lectured him on not having ice cubes in his drinks, cleaning his teeth with tap water and avoiding uncooked food, but he came down with Typhoid and ended up in a London hospital when he returned. He asked his partner not to tell me about it, and passed away at 9.30pm on 7 May 1993. We shared many secrets together and really supported one another. He really was my buddy and I still miss him very much.