Fond farewell is reminder of value of a quick hello

MONDAY. It’s a day which can be a trial at the best of times – and this particular one dawned grey and misty, with a slew of work meetings and a deposit of cat sick on the stairs.

Never mind.

Because soon enough my friend David would be phoning or dropping me an email, as he usually did, and things would cheer up immensely.

David was born to cheer people up. He was funny and sparky with a way with words that always made me smile. A writer, after all. One of the best.

“By the toot!” he would exclaim by way of greeting. “Hope you’re in the highest of fizz.” And after a chat with him I always was.

I made a mental note too, to apologise for not answering his last email. I had been busy, slipped my mind. He would understand.

Except David didn’t phone or email as usual that Monday morning. Ploughing through my to-do list, I wondered where he was, what was keeping him.

And a little time later, the answer to that question came.

David had passed away the previous night, leaving a chasm in the lives of his wife and son and family – as well as a gaping hole for the rest of us lucky enough to call him a friend.

Over the course of the next few days, scores of chums and colleagues past and present got in touch after hearing the news of his passing.

“He’d been on my mind to ring,” said one.

“We said we must meet for coffee,” offered another.

His last email is still in my inbox, unanswered.

This year has seen a great deal of loss for a great many people. Loss of people, of jobs and education, of opportunity. Sometimes, even loss of hope.

What has kept us strong is each other – friends and family, neighbours, colleagues and communities.

People on whom we have leaned and talked, laughed and cried, shared our fears and triumphs. People we have loved.

But it’s a fragile world that can pivot in an instant. Now, more than ever, there is no time to waste.

Organise that coffee – even if it is virtual. Make that telephone call. Send the email.

Soon another Monday will roll around. The world carries on turning, after all – a fact remarked upon by David, who would often end his missives with an entreaty to ‘press on’.

And of course I will. We all will. Sustained by others.

Whether they are in or out of sight.

When it was last this bad, we were in total lockdown, save for those testing their eyesight at North-Eastern heritage sites

WE are all familiar with the man-drawer – that sacred space so beloved by the blokes in our lives and which contains, well, stuff that must never be thrown out.

I used to scoff at my husband’s mandrawer, with its selection of old door keys, random screws, and broken staple guns.

Until lockdown. Now the man-drawer has been eclipsed in our house by something altogether more impressive – a she-shelf. Actually, three she-shelves, all in one cupboard, stacked high with bags.

Plastic and hessian, fabric or paper, my collection has climbed to a new level since lockdown. There’s even a selection of gift bags in there, should a sudden present crisis occur.

Just like the man-drawer, my she-shelf is built on the just-in-case principle. But in case I open it one day and am deluged by bags, you know where to find me.