Feeling low today- couldn;t think what yesterday was apart from Easter
Sunday then remembered it's also the 23rd of March

Has it really been 7 years? Felt bad about not remembering at first

My best friend, Mick, died on the 23rd of March 2001.

We met almost by accident- we used to get the same bus and get off at
the same stop and for a while I used to think "If the guy who looks a
bit like Eric Morecombe is at the stop I haven;t missed the bus" I
assume he felt the same about me "If the girl who looks a bit like
Nana Moussori is at the stop then I haven't missed the bus" (I guess
and I didn't spell her name right I know but the Greek lady with the
glasses and in those days I had the same glasses)

Then one Friday after a rotten day at work I fell asleep on the bus
and Mick woke me up before I could miss my stop. That was the ice-
breaker- we'd wait for each other and talk all the way home and
sometimes even stand for hours on  the corner chatting. He worked for
the Department of Transport (A claim to fame he would have rather not
have was one of his jobs was making sure cross channel ferries were
maintained properly and apparently, they were supposed to dry dock
once a year but the companies could get an extension if they were able
to prove they couldn't run all their routes if too many were in dry
dock at once then his job would be to approve some of them to wait a
while....he approved the "Herald of Free Enterprise" to wait a few
more trips and it capsized on what would have been it's last run)
later on when the department moved out of London he worked for the
Department of the Environment where he would proudly claim he was
forced to become an expert on London's sewers! He lived with his mum
and his brother, his dad died when he was still at school.

He was one of those clever people who never had opportunities- with
his dad dying so young he had to leave school as soon as possible and
get himself work to help his mum out. Later on, he took an English
Literature A level and passed with a grade A and his ambition when he
retired was to do an Open University degree (one of the reasons I
started one was because he was encouraging me to do it if I could-
I've passed a few courses but haven't been back for a few years as the
courses have got too expensive).  He liked his work, his colleagues
and loved cooking (I still use some of his recipies and tips), his
garden and of course....his animals...

He was the guy who owned the Jack Russell that introduced itself to a
couple in the middle of some open air nookie by shoving his nose into
the guy's bottom and a loving slave of Sam a huge longhaired tuxedo
cat

And he liked a little flutter on the horses and a play on a slot
machine where he would always say I brought him luck if I would go
away from the machine as he seemed to inevitably lose when I was
standing next to him.

In 1985 Dave and me moved off the Isle of Dogs (Mick was proud of
being an "Eastender" all his life but at his funeral it was revealed
he'd been born in South London as was the tale of the time his local
priest turned up to ask his mum if he would be an altar boy on
Sunday...a great honour she thought then she heard the window opening
and looked round to see Mick aged about 11 bolting up the garden path!
He lost all faith in organised religion at a very early age) so our
meetings at the bus stop ended and every Monday we would meet for a
drink after work. There are a lot of pubs in the Aldgate area we drank
in. We both wanted to write and would read stuff to each other, at the
time being rather shy he was probably the only person I would read to
(Not even Dave has had that privilege) and he'd read his stuff back-
he worked a long time on a murder mystery based in the Civil Service
perhaps as a result of his job and it was good I'd wait for the next
installment. Another thing he was going to do when he retired since at
least with his job he could retire at 60 maybe get some part time
work, do his OU courses, write his novel....used to tease him that
he'd be busier when he retired than when he was working

Later on we drank on a Monday in the "Bells" I often sit in the corner
where we used to sit.

In 1993 when we both lost our jobs and things were so tight he
insisted I meet as usual in the pub and he was buying -saying "You
both probably need a break right now from each other" and when he
turned up it was "Been cleaning out the cupboard at home- not going to
use these thought you could use them" and a carrier bag would come my
way. I am not stupid- he had a cat and no way is he not going to use 5
tins of Felix! Nor do cupboards ever turn up a pack of pork chops or a
packet of ham or....it was his way of helping us out and it probably
kept us going quite a lot.

He was also the guy who when I called him to call in a small loan
because "We saw a friend last night and don't ask me how but we have
two kittens arriving today!" (Fugazi and Isis)  took the afternoon off
and turned up with not just the money but because he knew I didn't
earn much (Now I earn not such bad money I wish he could be here so I
could buy him a beer and a meal and well...anything) a mysteriously
"don't need this now Sam's a bit bigger" brand new litter tray, bowls,
bag of litter, water dish....he was the other person to bawl his eyes
out after Fugazi crossed the Bridge

Years passed and how I wish I had never taken for granted that every
Monday Mick would roll into the "Bells" at 7.00 then we'd do
crosswords together through I was no match,. He did the "Times" cyptic
in under 20 minutes but we did word games as well

At the end of 1999, he got a dose of flu he couldn't shake. It was so
bad he quit the evil weed and in the end he almost killed his doctor
who kept saying "antibiotics are no good for flu" to get some, which
worked wonders but something had shown up on the X-Ray where they'd
also diagnosed thanks to his GP not prescribing antibiotics he'd been
walking round with pneumonia! Tests followed and on the 1st of April
2000 he called me to tell me he had cancer I remember saying "This had
better not be an April Fool!"

He walked it. Told he might lose his hair and a lot of weight, his
only comment was along the lines of "I don't have any hair to lose and
my GP says I need to lose a few stone. Guess there's something finally
to be said for being a fat and bald ba**ard".

He had chemo and at the end of the course when he handed back his anti
nausea meds they noted he'd only taken 2 tablets and asked him why to
which the reply was "That was the time I realised a second helping of
apple pie and cream on top of a big dinner wasn't a good idea". He
never lost weight and was quite proud of being the only patient in the
oncology department to be given a diet sheet

2 weeks before he died we were planning a celebration of his making it
through the first year since diagnosis. He wasn't as well as he had
been but he was still funny, still fighting as he had said he would do
since he was diagnosed, the last conversation I had with him was the
Monday before he died and he called to say he wasn't feeling too well
so he'd see me next week but he was having back problems and "My GP
wants me to go over there and see him but he'd better come here or
I'll have to crawl down the road on all fours with my a**e hanging out
of my pyjamas"

One last funny memory would be about 5 weeks before he died and he
seemed a bit down as you would be and he asked me to get a drink and I
said I would but I needed to pop to the loo first. So I did and when I
got back I went straight to the bar and I looked round and he had his
head thrown back and I could hear his laughing over the crowd and I
was so glad to see and hear it (He had a booming laugh) when I got
back and sat down I said "What's funny?"

The answer "You've been standing at the bar and you didn't notice you
have your knickers tucked into your skirt?!"

23rd of March 2001 he woke up in the night feeling a bit queasy and
went to the bathroom and dropped down dead. They had to get the fire
brigade to get him out -some people said that was undignified but I
suspect he'd have found it amusing. At the funeral one of the pall
bearers nearly dropped the coffin

Most Monday nights I make a little time to sit in the "Bells" and just
pretend that come 7 ish Mick will walk through the door throw the
papers at me and say "Wotcha trouble?"

I miss him sometimes more than my parents

Lesley

Slave of the Fabulous Furballs