James

So – I was going to write this piece about James, and the wistful way in which he told me the other day that he wants to try opium, and about the places he wants to visit; the Himalayas, (because he saw a photograph of a man smoking opium there and it looked lovely), and Thailand “for the street markets and the street food ”. He knows several builders who go there every year for the sex but he says that part's not for him at all.

And I was going to explain how I’m off on a road trip with T soon – through the desert to California, in a big red convertible that we’re renting; and how T said “but don’t watch Thelma and Louise” at the end of the email. I promised I wouldn’t, of course, but since then everyone’s asked exactly the same thing when I’ve told them where I’m off to; “have you seen Thelma and Louise?” and it’s made me laugh each time, but I’m still not going to see it because I promised.

Anyway – I was going to write all about that, and I would probably have explained how James cleans my pool and plays lead guitar in a heavy metal tribute band when he’s sober, - and how he has two children more or less the same age as mine – nearly grown up and independent. I might also have explained how we did our degrees at the same place, so he likes to reminisce about what an eye-opener it was for him coming up to London from sleepy Suffolk. I’ve often wondered how he went from philosophy to swimming pool maintenance, but I’ve never asked.

I was planning to end it by describing how our conversations almost always seem to finish these days. James says it’s time to lighten up. You never know; you could go – anytime – just like that. And he puts the hose down when he gets to that part, and snaps his fingers, to emphasise just how quick it could be, which makes me laugh. But he’s right; you could go just like that, and there’s a lot I still want to do.

But then last night I spoke to Zachary and he’s had a really sad week. Firstly, he went to a friend’s funeral; it was a brilliant party – everything you could ever want in the way of refreshments, and a double decker bus too. The person had been ill for a long time and he did basically drink himself to death at fifty. But Zachy said he was one of the most interesting and lovely people he’s ever known, and that the club he ran in Soho was the best place he’d ever been. It was full of all sorts of funny, clever people. Everything the Groucho would like to be but isn’t.

And then he said that only a couple of days later another friend died – again more or less the same age as us; from an overdose after being clean for quite a few weeks, which is the way it often happens; you lose your tolerance, and you do what you think is ok, but it’s not anymore. And Zach says London won’t be the same without those two, and that it’s a tragic double loss; the best club, and the last man to walk through Soho in a top hat.

I told Zach that I used to spend time in those places when I was much younger, but how I found the people all very intimidating because they were so unpleasant to each other, and all much older. He said oh you would have loved the people who were our age – they were much much nicer; there was real love in everything they did– but it’s all gone now, they are all dead or dying or in jail. And then I realised that I have missed a whole generation – my generation of that– hiding away here. Even Zach says this past week has made him think he’s been isolating himself too much lately, and he’s only been in Whitechapel for most of the time.

So it all goes to prove that James is right, and you really can go – just like that. I only hope there’s enough time to do everything I want to do, I’m going to have to start right now.