Andy

Farewell, farewell to you who would hear

You lonely travellers all

The cold north wind will blow again

The winding road does call

I have been thinking about Andy Foster the past two days - ever since his son Matt got in touch with me. Matt told me that Andy had recently died - with lung cancer being the prime cause. He had been a lifelong smoker.

Andy was my best friend during our early years at secondary school. We played rugby together and we were rebels. We didn't quite fit in in an all boys school that was rooted in the nineteenth century. The masters wore academic gowns and boys were only known by their surnames. Later I moved on to Beverley Grammar School.

Back in 1969 when we were fifteen, we hitchhiked down to London together to see Fairport Convention at The Royal Festival Hall. We were both becoming obsessed with the music of the day. After the concert, we were meant to stay at Andy's auntie's house in Bromley, Kent but we had not thought about how to get there. We were so  naïve - after all we were only fifteen and I am afraid  we didn't get to her house until one in the morning. She was furious.

Andy was a special human being. At that young age he had real presence and did not suffer fools gladly. I met up with him a few times when we were in our twenties and later in this age of emailing we communicated each Christmas. Now of course, I wish we'd met up to rekindle our friendship every so often: I remain quite shocked and saddened by his departure.

Matt told me of a poem that I had written back in the late sixties. His mother treasures it because Andy gave it to her  as a kind of love token when they first got together. I had no idea that it was in his possession. The handwriting is my own - perhaps he asked me to copy it out for  him. Perhaps he ripped it from my rough book. Hell, it's fifty three years ago - how should I remember?

Hoping that Matt and his mum won't mind, I post it here in memory of  my younger self  but mostly in memory of the one and only Andy Foster who, long ago, was my friend. How could I forget him? Rest in Peace my old chum - Rest in Peace...

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The Smell of New York and The Healing Darkness of The Theatre

 My last post wasn’t a sad one.

I was just struck by the fact that I looked so happy and rather suddenly I was transported to that hot day in New York where the air quality gave the city a smell and a feel all of its very own.

A strange, airless, slightly industrial typically New York type of atmosphere

I remember thinking that as I stopped for a moment on the High Line and squinted into the sun high over the Hudson River.

A moment and a feeling I will always remember.

Anyhow I’ve been busy today. 

I was up early with the dogs then took Bluebell to the hand wash and gave her a good seeing to with the shampoo Lance which is an incredibly therapeutic experience. I waxed her until she shone like a cornflower and vacuumed her insides until the heady stench of wet bulldog was camouflaged with the scent of lemon and antiseptic.

I picked up a coffee at the drive through then drove to the picture framers in St Asaph to pick up two “vintage” posters I had framed. The posters I bought when I went to Sitges ages ago and I found them in  their cardboard roll a couple of weeks ago when I clearing the decks.

The prints are straightforward, Japanese exhibition posters that pleased me with their simplicity.

They will govern the change of decoration in my office 

At midday I popped over to Trefor’s bungalow to check on his eye dressing ( which is doing very nicely thank you!) and after that I met a friend at Theatre Clwyd , for an afternoon performance of the play Isla. 

My friend is still deeply in grief and is finding socialising difficult so after a few aborted plans to meet up, I suggested we met at the theatre where she could “lose” herself  in the darkness and not feel obliged to say anything. 

Theatre and cinema darkness has always been a friend to me when I’ve felt brittle or lost.

Mark Lambert as Roger and Lisa Zahra as his daughter Erin

Isla promotes an interesting idea. Soon there will me more virtual assistants crooning their hushed female tones through wify, speakers, laptop and iPad than people. Lonely Roger ( Mark Lambert) is bought virtual helper Isla by his daughter Erin for him to keep occupied and busy and a strange sort of relationship is forged between man and machine as Roger’s life is complicated by an all consuming technology, lockdown isolation, and a sad loneliness that results in his frustrations being taken out with causal misogyny against his “female” companion with disastrous results  

Catrin Aaron

This co production between London’s Royal Court and Theatr Clwyd is an interesting one. Tightly directed by the theatre’s artistic lead Tamara Harvey and wonderfully acted by Lambert and by Catrin Aaron in a small but effective role as a officious policewoman, this production shows that North Wales’ lead theatre has hit the ground running.

It’s a thoughtful, incredibly funny and occasionally poignant piece of theatre which could stand its own in the west end .

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Truth

 I have debated writing this, but the time has come. I’m on day two of rest.  Monday I had my baclofen pump refilled. I love and dread it all in one breath. It’s the day I affectionately call meeting with the needle. It’s where precision and patience must meet. The needle must locate the pump and fill.   I have stopped looking at the needle because I know when it meets. It’s not exact and precise all the time. It can take time. In that time I search for kind eyes and small talk. Once done, I leave and carb load so I can have a few hours of energy to walk, shop and enjoy. Once the window closes, exhaustion sets in. The next few days are peaks and valleys of energy. I get bursts. One minute, I feel wonderful, the next I struggle to now doze off. The most mundane tasks become acts of courage. After about a week, I return to the person, I often take for granted. I’m a child of grace, blessed by a benevolent God who gives me access to healthcare many the world over could only pray for friends. I give you this brief looks into what it takes to maintain mental and physical health. Science and Jesus work in tandem in my life. Let me tell you every race, every creed, every religion has treated me. The immigrant has loved me. The treatment rooms are the melting pot. When the needle goes in, what or who you are matters not. I’m American born and bred, but my first word was not uttered in English. The Ukrainian and Cuban grandmother who I swore I was nothing like, is the one I miss most. The one who deepened my faith in Christ was a college professor I had who was a hardened atheist. You can be proud of your heritage and be a patriot in the same breath. My only desire is that you love people truly, deeply and without reservation. I don’t tell you how or what to believe. What you do, I don’t answer for. The Maker of Heaven and Earth knows your heart. He judges accordingly. We are all His children whether we profess His Omnipotence or not. Blessings my friends

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Cocoa

 Hot cup

Of cocoa

Marshmallows

Rising

To the top

Breathing 

In the aroma

Of coziness

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New York

 Facebook reminds you of memories 

I’ve disabled the facility today 

This photo was taken exactly four years ago today

It was 75 degrees in New York City in NOVEMBER

hey ho

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