It was funny that I should title that last post 'Walking in New Orleans'.

Today I was cycling home when I saw a very familiar figure standing on the steps of his office and saying goodbye to some visitors. It was only when I looked up and saw the gold stars on the railings and the initials FD emblazoned above the door that it dawned on me who he was.

Seventy-nine-year-old Fats Domino lived in a relatively unassuming house here in the Lower Ninth Ward for over half a century, eschewing the trappings of wealth. When it was engulfed by eight feet of water in August 2005, he was evacuated by police and ended up at the Superdome, where refused to pull rank, stood in line for hours, booked himself in under his real name of Antoine, and ended up sleeping on the couch of a student from Louisiana State University who recognised him.

For several days he was believed to have perished, and someone wrote in red paint on the front of his house: RIP Fats. You will be missed.

I discovered his music decades ago when I saw a TV documentary called Walkin' to New Orleans, with the song of that name as the theme tune, and bought a cassette of one of his albums. I little dreamed that one day he and I would be living in the same city and I would spend so many hours walking in New Orleans.

Pam said I should have gone and introduced myself - in times past, you could knock on his door and, if you were particularly lucky, join him in a meal. But he's reportedly a lot more reclusive now.