A Letter to Bob
It is three years today. I’m not sure quite what you would have made of this wheelie bin of misery since you left. I’m not sure what I make of it. All good reasoning eludes me. But I’m ok living in the dark on that.
I remember the first day we met. You walked into my office and asked exactly what it was I did at the newspaper. I said I wasn’t entirely sure. You insisted we talk it through over a decent lunch. That four hour lunch was the start of a decade of decent lunches and an unforgettable friendship…
You were always there for me, well, sort of. Do you remember five years ago I phoned and told you I had fallen off my bicycle and broken my leg? In one crisp and commanding sentence you shot back: “What an extraordinary thing to do.”
Or that day following a vociferous bollocking from the editor who had turned all raging bull on us, you arrived at work wearing your national service medal. “Dear God why?” I asked somewhat bemused. “Courage under fire old thing, courage under fire,” came your response.
Well there’s no doubt it has been an extraordinary three years without you. Some days when I’m sucked into an unavoidable vortex of rage and despair I miss your sage advice, homespun wisdom, your combination of strength and resolve. But most days I just miss you, your vivacious laughter and above all, your friendship.
They say justice is intrinsic to humanity. That matters less to me. If there were any justice in this uncivilised world, you would still be right here with me. But instead, your friends will gather today and raise a glass to you during yet another decent lunch.
Cheers my friend.