Peace, and the love you leave behind.

Phil never liked having his photograph taken, so while I do have many pictures of him I think he'd see the joke in this one (which I actually blipped in chilly March 2020, but for the purposes of today have desaturated a little as some of the colour has gone out of the world.).

I first met Phil in Bristol back in the eighties when we were both at a bit of a low ebb, and our senses of humour - his dry and mine more earthy - supported each others very well. We both rebuilt ourselves with the help of fantastic women and when he moved north our two families stayed in touch with regular visits back and forth.

Phil had a kidney transplant, a little after Janet had hers, so there was even more to talk about - although neither of us did much of that. And then Phil got covid. He pushed through that with his normal phlegm, but in the slow, slow post-covid recovery they found out there was more going on inside.

So, Phil passed peacefully into mystery this afternoon. It's a bit of a shock, and writing this has helped a bit. I've been lucky to get to this age without losing too many friends but with age comes the inevitability of loss. Say his name; Phil Jones. No-one is gone while their name remains alive... Sláinte!