We've had a lot on funerals
and it's reminded me of my best friend from school dying in 2008 - he was 26. It was totally out of the blue. I'd spoken to him a few days before and all was well.

I got the call from his sister and went back home from London to Birmingham for the funeral. The whole thing was very sudden and tragic and I'd been asked to do a reading at the ceremony.

I steeled myself as much as I could, but there was no way I could get through it without blubbing. I was a mess. I was upset afterwards that I'd been in a worst state than most of the family, and felt I'd let people down by not being more in control.

Getting a lift back to the station after the wake, me and a few friends from who'd known him well in school were talking about James and sharing what our memories of him were.

After a lot of talk about the sort of memories any group of teenage friends would have (drunken escapades, stupid jokes, embarrassing stories, etc.) Julie, who'd always been the only girl in the bunch through school, said 'You know, my abiding memory of him will be that he was absolutely lovely, but I don't think I ever spent more than five minutes with him when he didn't try and touch me.'

It made me smile for the first time in a week.

He was a wannabe raconteur. A smoothie-in-training who came over as a teenage Roger Moore. He had a huge crush on Julie and never saw any need to hide it. He would have thought it dishonest to do so. He was indeed, absolutely lovely, and I've no doubt he did relentlessly try and touch her. I'd much, much rather remember him funny and flawed and a bit ridiculous than as a helpless victim of the fates who's character is second to the fact of his early death.

I bought a few cans of beer, got on the train home, found a quiet spot, and managed to cry and giggle all the way back. Probably a bit of an odd entry, actually, as I don't feel guilty in the slightest...
(SnowyTheWereRabbit the Leporid from Hell, Sat 24 Jul 2010, 0:31, Reply)