"A short life, but a happy one."?

This morning I heard news of the death of Mike Marwick.  He was a great friend of mine and James (my first husband's) and a group of us seem to have spent most of our 20s together.   He was always a heavy drinker - except during Lent, when he gave up and drank nothing for a month, breaking out on Easter Sunday.   He was always a smoker - so it was not a surprise that lung cancer got him at 56, and he liked a flutter, which caused the odd problem I fear.

So far, so predictable - yet he had extraordinary charm and warmth, he did light up a room - he included people, he joked incessantly, had a great way with words.  I never ever didn't look forward to seeing him.   He could be exasperating - difficult - but I never really experienced that.  He had great humility - and when he was younger spent a lot of time helping out as a volunteer with disabled children.

There was great complexity in him - his surface charm hid a lot of pain.  I found out a little about this when our relationship briefly made the transition to the sexual when I separated from James.  I don't remember now how or why it transited back to friendship, but I wish now we'd made an effort to spend more time together and I'd got to find out a bit more about the underlying stuff.

Mike always said - when one pointed out the dangers of fags/drink etc. "a short life but a happy one".  56 years is short in our society - I hope he was happy.  I hadn't seen him since about 1997-2000? - when I asked him and some others to dinner.  It was a disaster: he was drunk when he remembered the party - but sped up the M4 from Newbury - and was stopped by the police.  Peter F had to go and collect him from Hammersmith Police Station.  I felt idiotically guilty for inviting him.  It was a fateful evening in other ways, someone who was hoping to find chambers managed to alienate the two barristers I'd invited to meet her by slagging him off.  Moral: when invited to dinner, do not alienate others by slagging off one of their best friends. Mike got two years suspension from driving - he avoided prison somehow.

Was Mike happy?  I know nothing about his last 12 years or so.  We invited him to a party in 2007 but he didn't reply.   We all meant to get in touch - but he was so hopeless about being in touch that it was too one-sided to ever happen. I heard that he had married, but nothing more than that she was Swedish.  He had a good job with an interesting company, and I hope that continued, and that his last years were not years of decline.  But there was that chaotic element in him, that one sometimes felt, despite his ability and charm, that he might be only hanging onto jobs by the skin of his teeth.

I can't help thinking of the James Taylor song Fire and Rain


I've seen fire and I've seen rain,
I've seen sunny days that I thought would never end,
I've seen lonely times when I could not find a friend,
But I always thought that I'd see you baby, one more time again


but we don't, although we should.

Rest day

Well, after a really lovely 4 hours with Clare - a feast of reason, flow of wit and lots of laughter, I found I felt much much better, the pains had worn off, and the glands on my skull were much less tender.   I roused myself like St Peter's mother in law and made steak and homemade chips for supper - which was a real success, and Rafael said steak reminded him of home.  Then we had quite an interesting conversation about religion - Rafa insisted he wasn't a Christian - he was a Catholic - then he explained that Christians were basically protestant/evangelicals who didn't believe in Mary... we talked about how different people believed different things in different places.  He clearly felt the important distinction between Chrs and RCs was the belief in Maria - it was strange because Clare and I had had rather a lot of discussion about religion and agreed to go to the big high Mass at St. Pugin's next Saturday - and then in the afternoon, I had a surprise visit from Claudie, a French woman I haven't seen for a long time.  She's an odd bird - one of those who expects entertainment and chat from me - we agreed we might have a little walk together sometime...she mentioned as she left that there was a prayer group at Chatham House (the boy's school).  I remembered that she too was an evangelical Christian.

So a rather religious dominated day...I rather enjoyed it - and wondered if God was coming after me because I was straying too far... I realise that I hardly ever pray at the moment, and given that I've been ill for 3-4 days haven't actually properly prayed about it - too busy worrying about whether it's a virus or the beginning of something worse.  The fact that I've had this sort of virus before suggests that it's that, and I hear the inner voice say "it won't last".

Last night I slept badly - constantly waking up as a new bit of me began to ache: elbows, neck, fingers, knees, thighs etc. and the tenderness on my skull is back.   I spent the morning in bed reading a book by James Long. It was quite an enjoyable book - but there was something slightly amateurish about it.  I can't really explain, there was a good plot, one of these past and present linked things - through archaeology.  But I didn't really get a strong sense of the characters or their story - there was an American archaeologist that I liked, but most of the characters were a bit cut out...The book is published by Harper Collins.  I read it because Mark's 90 year old Uncle Peter recommended it to me - he's a great reader and likes to talk about books.  Sometimes he reads fascinating books - sometimes trash: he recommended Dan Brown's Angels and ?  which I don't think I'll go for.   But probably great plotting.  It's a salutory reminder - people like plots.  Need to work on that.

Aches and pains

Oh dear!  The aches and pains in my hands, knees, elbows, neck etc. are continuing.  My hands are swollen and until last night I couldn't remove my ring - they are now swollen up again.  Anna pointed out to me that the tender patches on my head were actually glands - the occipital lymph glands I now discover.  There is one little hard one, but the rest of it is just all over aching.

All the websites say "the most common cause" of these symptoms is viral infection, and I have had a sort of "viral arthritis" before briefly and it did wear off.  However, the fact that my left knee has been playing up for a week or so, makes me wonder whether I am actually getting one of the more sinister causes: rheumatoid arthritis... I am sure it isn't, I'm sure it's just the temporary one.  Anna pointed out that I was probably run down (two heavy drinking weekends in a row) and maybe it is.  Or it could be lymphatic cancer... but I really think it must just be the viral thing... anyway, it's a "don't bother your doctor" until you've suffered for a week, so I really do have to wait until after the weekend.

Apologies for the hypochondria.  There isn't much else happening: yesterday did the washing, went shopping, went to the dump, came home, collapsed.  Had a sleep - then saw Anna in the evening.  We talked about the usual topics, and about her new production company which is a way of her making some money out of projects for herself.  Really hope this works.  It was lovely to see her, but I wasn't absolutely brill. company - lying on the sofa feeling less than fully conscious.  Clare Dove is coming for coffee today - hope I've perked up a bit by then.  I will need to tidy up.  I can do everything - just much, much more slowly.  And standing up is painful.

Feel like retiring to bed and reading - which I may do later.

Energy

 or lack of, as usual.  I still don't seem to have recovered entirely from the party - and now I have lots of arthritic pains in my knees and my little finger.... grrrr.   Apparently the answer is exercise - I went out into the garden, but it started raining.  So that's put the brass hat on it.

Have been working on 17Y - but don't have an appetite for it at present.  Jane says she is still feeling "jet-lagged" after the party - so that suggests the reason for how I feel.  I must stay staying up until late (4.45am) and smoking dope are things I have not done for years.

I fear I may retire to bed again this afternoon.   At least I don't have any meetings or anything.  I will make a lasagne and I have a very nice baklava from yesterday - so those are my only tasks.

I went to a marvellous party....

not very like the one in the Noel Coward song, but very fabulous in its own way.   I enjoyed it because there was a select handful of people we know locally and really like - and a vast number of people who we'd never met - and some of whom were willing and happy to talk to strangers.  As a result we stayed until 4.45am - and returned in the early morning light.  Quite extraordinary, as was the hangover today.

It was Jeff's birthday party - Jane his wife is one of my mini-book group... Unfortunately, the effects of the alcohol mean I am not in my most concentrated writing mood - so perhaps the report can wait until tomorrow.

Looking forward to...

It is a miserably rainy day, but I am looking forward to seeing my son's girlfriend's parents for coffee, going shopping, watching the Leveson enquiry on tv and seeing Rebecca Brooks (I hope) and then just hanging loose, and perhaps finishing washing the kitchen floor (a mammoth task I began yesterday).

I am also noticing how much more agreeable Twitter is now that it isn't full of vapid tweets from a couple of the people I was following.  I have also noticed that following intelligent clergy (Richard Coles, Giles Fraser) is more fun than following Stephen Fry.  Weirdly, I am now being followed by Grant Shapps the junior Housing Minister - I think he's just trying to see if I tweet anything politically interesting (which I won't).

I am also looking forward to going out to the Society of Authors get-together tonight.  I have persuaded Mark not to come, because I want to have it as my own sort of space... but I'm not sure if that's fair - he might like to go and speak to Jak... oh dear, maybe I should say it's up to him.  Still don't know what the topic will be.  It's in Deal, a bit of a drive, which means I mustn't drink too much.

oh dear

...a gentle rain of gloom is falling on me, I have achieved very little today (the Tuggses was this morning).  It is true writing is the solution, but somehow I haven't managed to do any.  Perhaps if I did a little bit now...

No, I just looked at TFR and felt faintly ill - I need to get away from it.   This is the point at which I should be getting on a boat to France and driving to an isolated gite for a fortnight of writing on my own.  However...that's not going to happen.  Can I make my own gite here?  Or rather find some way of living that makes me feel free and happy?

I felt happy earlier because I thought I had no commitments.  I have the uneasy feeling lots of undone things have to be dealt with, but I'm enjoying feeling vaguely free.

I just didn't have the energy to start the great house-cleaning today. Perhaps tomorrow.  At this time of day I always feel a bit rattled, because I ought to be going down and washing up and making supper.  I am half off the hook because Rafa is going out - but even the thought of making bacon and eggs for everyone is oppressing me just now.  Am I just a completely lazy cow - or is it depression?