Clearly, it's a shock when we lose those icons - the Princess Dianas or Michael Jacksons, who are part of the fabric of the world.
But, sad as it was for his family and friends - even his fans - I felt little over the recent death of Motorhead's Lemmy. Cynical it might've been, but I wondered how many of those lamenting his passing were really upset. I was more affected by the loss of DJ Ed Stewart, who died at the weekend. Though that's only because I once went to watch a taping of the kids show Crackerjack, which he presented.
Losing Bowie, however... that's a big one. It's hard to think of many remaining musical icons of his stature. Bowie going is Lennon big, and all the sadder given the creative success of his new album.
My plan today had been to listen to Blackstar (not "Backstair" thanks, autocorrect) while I worked. I was genuinely excited about that. Instead, I woke up to the news - like the rest of us - that Bowie was dead, simultaneously reading the headline on BBC news, as I received a text from my daughter telling me the same.
Frankly, I'm writing about it, because I'm trying to process it.
David Bowie was only involved in one video game - the less-than-stellar Omikron: The Nomad Soul, a poorly-received sci-fi game for the PC and Dreamcast, released in 1999.
He had input into the story and characters, as well as contributing music, and appearing as a couple of characters. Several of the songs on his underrated album Hours were written specifically for Omikron.
It was a shame that his one foray into video games was wasted on such a broken mess; a botched attempt at cramming several different styles of play under its bonnet, without any sort of cohering structure. It was an ambitious, ahead-of-its-time, open-world game in search of identity. Literally; its body-swapping central conceit may have been influenced by Bowie's famously chameleonic tendencies.
It was inevitable, though, that he'd have had some involvement in video games; he was a pioneer in so many areas. Lest we forget that Bowie also created Bowienet - the "the first artist-created internet service provider".
BULLY FOR YOU, CHILLY FOR ME
Obviously, Bowie won't be remembered for his one dalliance with creating video games. His lasting legacy will be the influence he had on music, art, fashion, gender... but the thing I really take away from his life is how he handled fame in his later years.
The few public appearances he made in the last decade or so simply cemented him in my mind as a gentleman - courteous, humble, but self-aware. A decent guy, who had lived an extraordinary life. Somebody who no longer needed to be famous, whose last couple of albums indicated an artistic spirit, rather than creating as a means to a more narcissistic end, like so many musicians.
I was working on the Wembley Stadium scoreboard that day, and - hours before the concert was due to start - I went out into the stands to eat my lunch. Usually on event days, the stadium was a hive of activity.
That day, it was eerily quiet... until Queen and Bowie stepped out on stage, and ran through a complete performance of Under Pressure by way of a soundcheck.
I later read in a Bowie biography that he'd asked for the stadium to be cleared for that performance. Nobody had noticed me sat at the very back, eating my sandwiches.
This might sound strange, but I thought a lot about Bowie when I dragged Mr Biffo out of retirement at the end of 2014.
Clearly, I've never been Bowie famous (indeed, I'm barely famous at all, thank god). Unfortunately, the brief brushes I'd had with public awareness coincided with some of the most terrible times in my life, and being under even a tiny, albeit fiercely concentrated, spotlight didn't help me. For a while it felt like I was trapped in a feedback loop of shittiness, and would have understood if my public obituary had been "Mr Biffo: twat".
Reflecting on how Bowie could hold onto his self, his privacy, and his manners, while being one of the most famous people in the world, was eye-opening. It seemed as if he had gotten his priorities right. It felt like he was putting family, and living, first.
Plus, in the last three decades you'd be hard-pressed to find a story about Bowie acting unpleasantly towards anyone. I've found that every bit as inspiring as his artistic legacy.
In some ways, it's actually irritating that I feel so upset about Bowie dying. I feel like I've stumbled aboard the national grief bandwagon that I'm usually happy to watch drive past. I remember when 9/11 happened, and how annoyed I was when so many people tried to make out they were personally affected by it; "Oh, my uncle's friend's boss's sister once went to New York..."
I don't want to be one of those people who tried to manufacture some personal grief just to join in. Yet I've seen some on Twitter attack those who have expressed their sorrow, as if we can stop ourselves from feeling the loss of someone who were important to us, even if we never knew them personally. Of course those who knew him best are those who will feel his death most acutely. Of course it's not as heartbreaking as losing your father, or husband.
But I can't help it. For me, like so many other of David Bowie's fans, it's a terrible day.