Today, my old friend Steve visited to come and see his old pal perform in My Boy Jack. We first met in the early 90’s whilst working part time in a Cash and Carry ‘ Up North‘. Me and Steve spent many a lunch break attempting to unravel the mystery of it all.
Nowadays Mr Yates has no interest in stocking shelves. He's a hubbie, a top Dad and recently started his own company. He reads lots of complicated books on how to build websites, and drives a shiny black car that is capable of breaking the speed limit in 0.1 second. It's modern vehicle (unlike my beloved Winston) complete with all mod cons. I was like a kid with a new toy; opening and closing the electric window. I also had bit of a fumble with a secret button on side of the passenger seat. This reminded me of the secret ejector seat button on the Aston Martin in the movie Goldfinger when 007 sends an armed guard catapulting out of the car.
We had lunch at the local deli The manageress of the cafe was extremely flirtatious...‘Somebody smells gorgeous’ she said. ‘ A bit like lemon zest with a hint of grass ‘. I looked across at Steve who was taking a sip from a mug of Lemon Grass tea, and we grinned at each other.
In my opinion, grass isn’t always greener on the other side even if the ego tries to convince me otherwise. I honestly believe that the only thing missing in any situation is what I am not bringing to it.
Stevies mother died from cancer on the same day as Pops exactly one year before. Supposedly, on the drive home from the funeral parlor, his son accidentally knocked over his Mothers ashes and ended up looking like a ghost. Steve was so distaught that he scooped up the remaining ashes in his hands, and after pleading for forgiveness , sprinted down to the bottom of the garden and scattered them next to the silver birch tree.
Later that same evening I stepped into Michael Bowes shoes for the first performance of My Boy Jack. I struggled to control my breathing in the second act due to having recieved a blighty after a mix up during a fight in the trench scene. (This is a wound serious enough to require recuperation away from the trenches but not serious enough to kill or maim the victim) During the scene I got punched in the ribs and fell so hard on my backside that I ended up feeling like I had been kicked by a horse. I walked off stage feeling bitterly disappointed. I confided in friend and mentor Di Norman who encouraged me to find more of a balance between light and shade. However, my old pal Steve said my performance was the equivalent of High-definition television. (See left for a picture of a HDTV complete with real clouds.)
Ell stayed the night. Our relationship is is a sacred marriage of hearts. I feel truly blessed to have this wonderful person in my life. I have only been consciously dying for two days and feel sad at the thought of having to leave her behind.
'If every man and woman alive could feel the crazy, delirious rush of the soul when it touches the soul of another, the world would be a happier place.' - Marianne Willilamson