Richard Madeley: Lovable, egotistical – and he didn't have an envious bone in his body

An earthquake rocked Manchester on the day Tony Wilson died. No one was hurt, but the place was pretty shaken up – precisely the effect Tony usually had on those around him. And as with Friday's quake, most secretly relished the experience.

Judy and I knew Tony because of what he called his day job, and what we described as our careers. The three of us presented Granada Reports, the North-west's nightly television news magazine, from the heart of Granadaland in Manchester's Quay Street.

Related articles

• Tony Wilson: Driven by music and Manchester
• Search the news archive for more stories

Tony, known in the newsroom by the obscure soubriquet of Fat Willy, was cock of the walk. Most television presenters have large egos which despite their size need stroking; Tony's was big enough to take care of itself. Once, in a conversation about the most efficient way of committing suicide, Tony said comfortably that should the worst ever happen he would simply hurl himself from the top of his own ego.

But it was precisely this unshakeable self-belief that made him so lovable, because it allowed him to bypass the kind of competitiveness and jealousy that so often poisons our profession. Tony didn't feel threatened by anyone or anything so took a benign and relaxed view of the success of others. He didn't have an envious bone in his body, which probably made him unique in the rancidly competitive world of television current affairs.

We learned of his cancer when he went public about it, typically in the pages of the Manchester Evening News. Although we'd seen him less often since we moved down to London (I remember Tony shaking his fist at me in not entirely mock outrage the day he heard of our "betrayal") we still felt extremely close to our old friend and, fearing the worst, made a point of letting him know how much we both loved him. He was very touched.

In his final weeks it emerged that because of the stupid postcode health lottery, Tony was being denied a life-saving cancer drug which was far too costly for him to buy privately, but available free from other healthcare trusts. A fine reward from the city he did so much to promote and help to prosper. His friends in the music industry and many still doing the "day job" in television came forward to help.

The treatment seemed to be working – Tony told us the tumours were retreating – but a pulmonary embolism dragged him down and he was too weak in the end to ride out the heart attack that killed him.

An earthquake marked his passing. That's the sort of thing that happens only to kings in stories.