I was thinking that maybe I’d write about the death of Nigel Pargetter and how fate throws us all to the wind sometimes. Nigel died trying to remove a New Years Eve Banner from the rooftops of Lower Loxley Hall, caught by a gust and falling to his death in the shrubbery below. Such a shame, he was such a nice man, a gentleman at its most literal.
I considered writing about the end of the Christmas hols and the start of a New Year and how I was going into it with a new found enthusiasm and positivistic gusto despite the death of poor Nigel. It seems that life isn’t after all an everyday tale of country folk. It’s a bitch even in Ambridge.
I was maybe going to write about how thirty years to the day a very young me started work at Dale House, Dale End, Birmingham as a general artist making ads and having some great times with some even greater people, and how I miss those times. I might even have recounted a tale or two – the fake medicals that we set up, the even faker bomb that closed the centre of Birmingham for a couple of hours, the smoking and drinking and strippograms that were almost monthly occurrences back then.
I was working on ways of combining these themes when were walked through our front door to the sound of gushing water coming through the kitchen ceiling, well what little ceiling there was left. We spent hours mopping up the water, clearing up the mess, taking stock of the damage – the floor, the units, the recessed lighting, the shiny stainless steel appliances. A burst pipe in the bathroom… thrown to the wind by fate again.
So sorry about not posting, but thank God I didn’t have a banner on the roof.