My oldest friend died in January 2020. He’d just finished his shift as a drama teacher at a North London school and was about to drive home. He had a cardiac arrest in his car. It was sudden and without warning. He died shortly afterwards.
We met in the first year of our secondary school and meandered through life together – the fab times and the not so fab times, the love affairs and the broken hearts, the loss and the recovery – just like family. And it’s fair to say that, also just like family, we didn’t always see eye to eye. In fact, we sometimes clashed and quarrelled. But through it all, we remained truly bonded, more like brothers than friends. He even remembered me in his will, which was completely unexpected.
Rather than commemorate his death, instead we celebrate his life. And we do this around his birthday. It’s that time of year again so we’re off to old London Town to raise a glass or four with a few choice friends. It will be a day of gossip and giggles. He would have loved it.
