Steve Good - 6th November 1963 - 10th December 2004

It has been a very hard day. I (along with probably about 200 other people) went to Steve’s funeral today. If I touch as many people’s lives in the way he did, I would consider my existence on this planet to have been worthwhile.
One of the saddest things was to see his daughters each carrying a lighted candle as they followed his coffin out of the church.

Another memorable and moving part of the service was Steve’s sister Vanessa’s reading of a poem by Joyce Grenfell called “If I Should Go Before The Rest Of You”:-

If I should go before the rest of you, 
Break not a flower, nor inscribe a stone, 
Nor when I'm gone, speak in a Sunday voice, 
But be the usual selves that I have known; 
Weep if you must, 
Parting is hell 
But life goes on, 
So sing as well

The Order of Service issued at the church just mentioned the title of that poem so, while I was searching for the words to reproduce here, I found the following, which also breaks me up:-

You can shed tears that he is gone, 
Or you can smile because he lived,
You can close your eyes and pray that he will come back, 
Or you can open your eyes and see all that he has left.
Your heart can be empty because you can't see him 
Or you can be full of the love that you shared, 
You can turn your back on tomorrow and live yesterday, 
Or you can be happy for tomorrow because of yesterday.
You can remember him and only that he is gone 
Or you can cherish his memory and let it live on, 
You can cry and close your mind, be empty and turn your back, 
Or you can do what he would want: smile, open your eyes, love and go on


I'm crying again.

Upright, at last!

It's nice to be able to walk - albeit slowly and carefully - in a perpendicular fashion, even though I have been bent double for only 48 hours - it seems longer, mind you. As the day has worn on, the ability to achieve this physical state has increasingly asserted itself. Don't ask me why the pain occurs without any identifiable trigger - it just seems to happen every 12-18 months. "Oi!", it says, "I am your back, and you are abusing me still, and taking me for granted (is my back a woman?), I'm going to teach you another lesson! You never learn, do you? Here goes, then." "Owwwww!" (that was me).

We were dishing out mulled wine and mince pies at the local community Christmas Carol Service tonight and, fortunately, Andrew, Matthew and Marie were on hand to help so my presence was virtually pointless. I think the pointlessness could continue for some time.

Ruby Cabernet and Ibuprofen

I have invented a new cocktail using the above ingredients, although I have not thought of a name for it yet. It helps temporarily, but only with physical pain. Well, maybe with the other sort as well. Anyway, I am not going to dwell on any more sadness - enough has been said to depress any traveller who chances upon these chronicles.

Today, on several occasions, it has taken me about 5 minutes to get down the stairs and probably 7 or 8 to get back up. The pain subsides when I am sitting in my high-backed office chair, so I will probably be sleeping in it tonight! No, that's silly, it's OK when I am in bed flat on my back; the trouble is, I have to make my way there! And then I'm at the mercy of any naked blonde lady who happens to be passing.

Oh well, if any naked blonde ladies are reading this, help yourself, I'm resigned to my fate! Just be very gentle with me and make no sudden movements!

Oh, no, what now?

For no apparent reason, my back has given out again. Today (well, yesterday, actually) I have been walking around almost bent double.

Still, everything pales into insignificance after Friday's catastrophe. I have never been in a place with so many tears on that night. I didn't want to go back to the pub but I sent a message to Andrew to see if he was all right and he asked me to come - I'm glad he did. I felt as if we had all shared something special - ironic, given the tragic circumstances. Heather was there - Craig said she wanted to come to the pub, I guess she knew she would be among friends; I hope it helped her. I'd like to think it did - a little.

Why do we only seem to demonstrate our love for each other in extreme situations? We hugged and cried together without a care for who was watching.

Oh, thanks, don't mind if I do - just a small glass - oh and another couple of Ibruprofen for the back.

RIP, Steve

Today, we lost Steve Good. He died on the road to Verwood this morning and everyone is totally devastated. He was a good friend to Andrew and was there for him during some difficult times. He was a loyal team-mate and friend to Matthew and to all the other members of London Tavern FC. I suppose we will get over his loss in time but, at the moment, I am finding that impossible to contemplate. I don't know how Becks and his family are going to manage but I hope they know that he leaves many friends who will do anything they can to help them get on with their lives without him. We will need some help, too; hopefully, we can help each other.

When I think of the trials and tribulations he had to suffer during the last year or so of his life and how it was a pleasure to see him starting to put all of it behind him and begin to get back on his feet again, it breaks me up. Good-bye, Gramps, at least you won't be the oldest player in Heaven's team! I'll miss you, mate.

Crosswords and Fires

I couldn't even finish the bloody Telegraph Quick Crossword today (has the usual Thursday Cryptic Psycho Bitch From Hell started to compile that one as well, I ask myself?) but....... I got the pub's log fire going again after it had been reduced to just glowing embers. So that was all right - as were the two pints of Wadworths 6X - I do take my Quality Control role in the pub's management set-up very seriously, that and PR, of course. The Christmas tree went up today and the decs are going up tomorrow night, after closing. I told Sheila that Richard was going to give us a hand. He said that he would be only too happy to help put them up......................my arse! Well, really! Still, thanks for the bike, Rich.

Well on the road to sensibleness…..?

Why is it strangely fascinating to read the private musings of an anguished soul, even if (sometimes especially if) they contain references the significance or nature of which are known only to the writer (and, of course, any other person involved)?

There must be hundreds (if not thousands) of songs out there that have been written based upon bitter (or happy) experience – the more you can relate to the words almost raises the song in your estimation. You would expect to be quite irritated that you don’t know the circumstances that have prompted them to be written, but, for me, that frustration is just not there. I find it simply perverse that I can readily accept the willingness – probably more the need – of the writer to share his or her emotions with complete strangers. How maudlin is that for a wintry November evening?

As I write this, I am listening to Beatles albums - Help! at the moment, Track 12, I’ve Just Seen A Face.

Does this make me sensible all of a sudden?

Oh dear, what do I do now?

A beautiful naked blonde lady said to me last night, "Right, you can wake up now." And, as I always do as I'm told by beautiful naked blonde ladies, I complied, only to find I was sitting in the armchair with the headphones still feeding digital detritus into an insensible aural system. Not a naked blonde in sight. Anyway, this is my very first blog (hence the slightly diffident title) but I have been inspired to play a small part in this world-wide sport by someone living not a million miles away. It could have been anyone, I suppose, or maybe it was just an unusual (and apparently pandemic) urge to share/publish personal thoughts but I think the time and space continuum had something to do with it and, of course, geocaching. Well, there it is. I might write something sensible soon.