As a British Jamaican, needless to say Bob Marley means a lot to me. I can’t recall a time when his music wasn’t in my life. Some of my fondest memories are of the parties my family would have seemingly every week, with the smells of snapper fish, fried chicken, white rum and rice and peas wafting through the house. On the record player would be an endless collection of vinyl from Dennis Brown, The Cool Ruler AKA Gregory Issacs, Marcia Griffiths and calypso giant, Arrow. But there was always a healthy supply of Bob Marley records. A West Indian party wasn’t a party without at least three or four songs from Bob.