Richard Long

A few months after the Minx and I started seeing one another - perhaps around the point when we both stopped thinking that it was only a short-term relationship - she invited me out with her friends to see a gig at 53 Degrees in Preston. (I think was either Johnny Marr or Huey and the New Yorkers.) 

Her friends turned out to be a great bunch, including a couple called Vic and Richard. I particularly liked Richard; he had a ready (and mischievous) grin and made an effort to include me. It was nice to meet one of the Minx's friends with whom I thought I might forge a friendship. 

After the gig, though, Richard seemed to be disproportionately drunk, which everyone kind of laughed off but, horribly, it turned out to be an early manifestation of multiple sclerosis. And the disease progressed quickly. 

I suppose that since then, I've seen Richard once or twice a year. At first he seemed much as he was the first time I met him, but all too quickly progressed to crutches and then a wheelchair. I've found that very difficult yet I barely knew him: I can't imagine what it's been like for those who were close to him, including and especially his two daughters. 

Richard passed away the week before last and today was the funeral. It was sad, of course. Very sad. Vic told a wonderful story about how they met, working in a hotel, Richard in the kitchen, her serving. They didn't realise for a long time that the chap who managed the rotas made sure they always had the same shifts and the same days off. How often do you get to know your own Cupid?!

And then their elder daughter, Meg, spoke. She was, understandably, hesitant at first, and I wondered how she would do. But as she talked about her dad, she began to smile and, at times, almost laugh. It was so beautiful, to listen to and see her love for him. It's a great sadness that he couldn't see it, too. 

As people spoke about him, his passion for the outdoors and for fun and excitement and adventure became evident, as well as his love for ale. So this evening I had a couple of bottles of Punk IPA, which I thought was appropriate, while I pondered that a life can never have been wasted that brought so much love into the world.