So Long, And Thanks For All The Fish...

The accepted wisdom when it comes to friends, is that they come in and out of your life exactly when you need them, often at moments of great personal upheaval or change; when you first start school, for instance, when you start a new job, or when you’re looking for companions to go on a quest to a remote mountain wherein lie untold riches…It is also to be expected that our social circles expand and contract over time, often in tune with our patience or tolerance levels becoming increasingly tested.

  

Well, somebody forgot to tell any of this (except perhaps the bit about the mountain) to a group of 13 year old boys back in 1983 who were thrown together into one big, scary high school. Some of us came to The Leys with friendships already established; Barry, Jon, Spod, Staz & I were Dinglesiders through and through, whereas Gary, Stevie P, Stevie C and Simon came up from Lodge Farm, both groups of high achievers, captains of industry and sporting gods to a man...in a parallel universe, maybe… 

 

Nevertheless, we all gravitated toward each other, like spotty, smelly satellites orbiting the lesser known star Awkward Teenager Alpha-5, learning and laughing together, as well as cataloguing each other’s quirks, foibles and weaknesses for later exploitation and ridicule. It was during a particularly wet PE session that Mr Bloomer, teacher of physical education and fully paid up sadist (it’s surprising how often those two go hand in hand...) decided that a students given name could be subject to negotiation, rather than taken as fact. And lo, due to the prowess of a particular English cricketer of the day, the mind of a frustrated PE teacher and our dear departed friends' surname, the nickname of 'Bob' did come to pass...

 
 

Bob, as he shall always be known in our circle, was that rarest of fellas; he was funny, everyone will tell you that - quick witted, sharp as a tack and observational to the point of being downright nosey. And smart, so very smart, he kept everyone on their toes with his keen understanding (and total recall) of EVERY RULE in every fantasy role playing and board game...and don't get him started on Depeche Mode, a passion we shared, admittedly – a Saturday morning trek into town to Our Price to get copies of their album Black Celebration when it came out resulted in a mad dash back to his folks house on the Studley Road in order to listen to it. Again and again and again…
 

As a group we've shared everything with Bob; marriages, divorces, births, holidays, music festivals, birthday parties (his 6th being particularly memorable apparently for a round of Pin the Tale on the Donkey AND for having girls there...), over-attentive furry mascots (I'm looking at you Chip' n' Dale at DisneyLand Paris), shooting Star Wars figures off of the bonnet of his mums Fiat 500 with an air rifle, 'borrowing' flashing traffic beacons from roadwork’s and running down the street with them stuffed up your jumper because they wouldn't turn off. You name it, we've been through it, and usually with him by our side, or at least from a safe distance behind.
 

Except death, of course.

Not one of us has had the cheek to go and die on the rest; he had to be the first to go and do that. And now we're all just flapping about, like fish on the quayside, gasping for air, not knowing what to do with ourselves, how we're supposed to feel, or when we'll stop hurting. The memories we have of him, shared and personal, intimate and public, good and bad, are all that is left now. It is up to us to remember him, to honour him, and to remind this world that, once upon a time, for all too brief a period, one walked amongst us who was loved, and who could always make us laugh, sometimes at ourselves, sometimes at our friends, but occasionally, at the world we live in, and life in general.

He was a seriously hoopy frood who always knew where his towel was; the fact that he leaves us aged 42 is heart-breaking, yet somehow strangely fitting - I trust that he now knows the answer to the ultimate question...
 

So long Bob, and thanks for all the fish.

P.