Ozzy Osbourne. RIP Bohemian Brummie.

The musical term ‘Heavy Metal’ was born in Birmingham in the English Midlands. Bands like Led Zeppelin and, of course, Black Sabbath. I was born and dragged up in Brum and worked on radio stations BRMB, BBC WM and Chrysalis station The Arrow. It’s a great area, with great people. One of the people I worked with was Tom Parker. This is his personal take on a local legend.

It was branded ‘The Summer of Sabbath’ in Birmingham. It’s certainly lived up to the billing. Whenever I’ve been ready to close the book and move on, something else happens and I get dragged back in.

First there was the months of anticipation for the gig. Then, as it got closer, I was fortunate to become involved. Working at the opening of the museum exhibit with Sharon Osbourne. Making videos around the city of all the Sabbath-related attractions. Being among the privileged few to be present as the band was granted the Freedom of the City. The gig itself. And as I wallowed in the afterglow of that unforgettable couple of weeks, that, I thought, was that.

But after the highs came the lows.

The shock of Ozzy’s death. Being despatched the following day to capture the city’s reaction. The opening of the condolence books. Looking on as metalheads from across the world descended on Birmingham once again, much sooner than planned.

Then, on Sunday, I received a call to ask if I would like to be involved in a final ride around Birmingham for the Prince of Darkness. I didn’t need to be asked twice.

And so we came around to today. As I took my privileged reserved spot next to Black Sabbath bridge, I watched in awe as the general public gathered in their masses – tens of thousands of them – to salute our city’s finest son.

Then there was the heartbreaking moment when the family arrived, broken, and I found myself in the odd predicament of trying to capture the occasion in spite of the tears streaming from my eyes.

I wasn’t prepared to find it so emotional. In many ways, I think it was suppressed grief for my own dad. My love of all things Ozzy and Sabbath came from him, and my emotions over the last few weeks have been so wrapped up in his memory. Seeing the Osbournes going through the same heartbreak that the Parkers did a couple of years ago, only with the added pressure of the eyes of the world watching them… Wow. It hit me right in the feels.

But, amid the sadness, there was pride. A demonstration of Birmingham at its best, and the reasons why Ozzy strikes a chord with us so much.

As Brummies, we live our lives being sneered at, the constant butt of the joke. So, when we see somebody who sounds like us become one of the coolest people in the world, of course we latch onto them. He was ours, and the city was his.

It says a lot that Ozzy remains so revered despite being a complicated man. Delving into his past uncovers some uncomfortable truths. But it only adds weight to the feeling that we view him as one of our own. We see through his flaws. We forgive his mistakes. And that’s true love.

He is, however, a textbook case of the power of atonement. He always owned his mistakes and took responsibility for them. There was no apportioning of blame. No wallowing in self pity. Just a steady resolve for self-improvement. That PETA and The Alamo were among the social media accounts lining up to pay tribute last week says everything. Hundreds of millions of pounds raised for charity as his final act of redemption was the icing on the cake.

Legacy assured. Our greatest Brummie.

And so, as Ozzy left Birmingham, so ended our Summer of Sabbath. For real this time.

And while there will be no more cause for emotional outpourings from me, I’ll still show my love for Ozzy by quietly indulging in my love of his music, whilst encouraging my son to indulge in his.

Just like my dad did.

You know I will. I really will.