Celebrity deaths are funny old things. I always feel faintly surprised when people wail and gnash their teeth because a favourite singer dies. Yes, you might have greatly admired Michael Jackson, and it’s sad for a lot of people that he’s gone, but you didn’t really know him, did you?

However, I readjusted that opinion a little this week because I feel greatly saddened at the death of Chris Sievey, who was better-known in the world of showbiz by his alter ego, Frank Sidebottom.

Frank was no stranger to Bradford, but it’s possible you don’t know who I mean. He was always smartly turned out for his gigs in a suit, had a nice line in comedy and musical performance, and had a huge papier-mache head with big baby-blue eyes painted on it.

On paper, the idea of Frank Sidebottom is a faintly ridiculous one. In real life, he was more ridiculous still. With a nasal South Manchester twang he would deliver truly awful renditions of songs by Queen or Wings, given his own twist which usually involved references to his home town of Timperley. Frank lived with his mum and was desperate to break into showbiz, and recorded his albums in his shed, aided, abetted and often disrupted by his cardboard puppet, Little Frank.

Like I say, ridiculous. But also immensely entertaining. I first came across the act back in 1988, when I was a student. And Frank stayed with me.

Chris Sievey, the man inside the head, was a private person. Once he was in character, he would answer to nothing but Frank. He was Frank Sidebottom, and that was that.

When I first started work as a journalist, on the Chorley Guardian in Lancashire, I got to meet Frank Sidebottom ahead of a gig. I interviewed him in his dressing room, him in full Frank regalia while his Oh Blimey Big Band set up and mooched around. I was still a little naive about the whole Frank phenomenon, I suppose, because I asked him if he always had his head on.

Frank – not Chris Sievey, but Frank – fixed me with a steely glare from his papier-mache head (the range of emotions he could wring from that head was truly amazing) and said to me: “Of course I do. Don’t you always have your head on?”

Chris Sievey died almost penniless, but thanks to an internet campaign an amazing amount of money was raised within a few hours to give him a proper send-off. Celebrities such as Phill Jupitus, Mark Radcliffe, Jason Manford and journalist Jon Ronson led the charge.

Frank would, I think, have been delighted. It’s just a little sad that the showbiz fame he craved only really came when it was too late. Frank, for all the good times you gave me and my mates, I thank you.