diamond geezer

 Friday, June 20, 2003

Friends

No, I don't mean the ghastly American show where six people sit on sofas, drink coffee and pretend not to fall in love with each other. The show where the director thinks you need to see a five second external shot of the building everyone's in every two minutes, and then plays a burst of saxophone music to give the canned laughter from the previous scene time to fade away. Sorry, but I don't do Friends.

And, to some extent, I don't do friends much either. Go back ten years, and I'd have been hard pushed to point at anybody and call them a really good friend. I've done a bit better recently, but you could still count the number of really good friends I've had in the last five years on the fingers of one hand. Even on the fingers of one hand if you're one of those pedants who insists that one finger is in fact a thumb so it doesn't count. I'm someone who's usually quite happy filling his own time, and doesn't need to be socially attached all the time to feel occupied, complete and worthwhile. Having said that, I've discovered in the last five years that having friends improves the quality of one's life no end, especially when you live near enough for them to make a regular contribution to your waking hours.

I met one of those good friends exactly five years ago today. Good friends always seem to come along when you least expect it, and standing in the middle of a field in a large tent was one such place. I'd been dragged along to an agricultural show, full of blacksmiths, prize cows and self-righteous foxhunting types. Stuck behind one particular table, surrounded by people old enough to be their grandparents, were a couple who were keen to sign up some new blood into their rural-pastime organisation. I can't quite remember why I agreed to sign up for a year's membership (I suspect I'd have been shouted at if I hadn't) but I got a whole lot more out of that meeting than a year's supply of newsletters. Not that I realised at the time. About a month later we were invited to a barbecue at this couple's house (Oh god, barbecue, it'll all be earnest pensioners and under-cooked chicken) and things sort of grew from there. Again, not that I realised at the time. I didn't realise properly until about a year later, when my relationship was quietly disintegrating around me, that there was actually someone else I could talk to who understood the situation and could offer the advice I needed to get me through. And get me out.

Good friends are always there for you. They're there to go to the pub with, to help you out with your gardening because you're rubbish at it, to ring you up and ask you how you are, to broaden your social horizons, to give you advice when you need it, to give them advice when they need it, to stand in the audience at gigs with, to share your sense of humour, to sit in caf├ęs and restaurants and share experiences with, to keep in touch with even when they're many miles away, to burn you a CD and tell you they almost liked the last one you burnt for them, to indulge in deep meaningful email conversation with, to disappear off on holiday to America with, to help guide you through life without making any stupid mistakes, to pick you up out of deep dark holes should you fall into one, to buy the odd special present for, to ask you if you fancy a ride out on the back of their bike, to ask your advice and take it seriously, to know what you're going to tell them even before you say it, to accompany you to places you'd never dream of going to by yourself, to bring you a much-needed cup of tea at work, to listen to while they tell you how their life's going, to listen while you tell them how your life's going, and to introduce you to other people who are going to end up being good friends too.

Thanks to those special friends who've made my last five years a better place. You know who you are. And, thankfully, so do I.


<< click for Newer posts

click for Older Posts >>


click to return to the main page


...or read more in my monthly archives
Jan17  Feb17  Mar17  Apr17  May17  Jun17  Jul17  Aug17  Sep17
Jan16  Feb16  Mar16  Apr16  May16  Jun16  Jul16  Aug16  Sep16  Oct16  Nov16  Dec16
Jan15  Feb15  Mar15  Apr15  May15  Jun15  Jul15  Aug15  Sep15  Oct15  Nov15  Dec15
Jan14  Feb14  Mar14  Apr14  May14  Jun14  Jul14  Aug14  Sep14  Oct14  Nov14  Dec14
Jan13  Feb13  Mar13  Apr13  May13  Jun13  Jul13  Aug13  Sep13  Oct13  Nov13  Dec13
Jan12  Feb12  Mar12  Apr12  May12  Jun12  Jul12  Aug12  Sep12  Oct12  Nov12  Dec12
Jan11  Feb11  Mar11  Apr11  May11  Jun11  Jul11  Aug11  Sep11  Oct11  Nov11  Dec11
Jan10  Feb10  Mar10  Apr10  May10  Jun10  Jul10  Aug10  Sep10  Oct10  Nov10  Dec10 
Jan09  Feb09  Mar09  Apr09  May09  Jun09  Jul09  Aug09  Sep09  Oct09  Nov09  Dec09
Jan08  Feb08  Mar08  Apr08  May08  Jun08  Jul08  Aug08  Sep08  Oct08  Nov08  Dec08
Jan07  Feb07  Mar07  Apr07  May07  Jun07  Jul07  Aug07  Sep07  Oct07  Nov07  Dec07
Jan06  Feb06  Mar06  Apr06  May06  Jun06  Jul06  Aug06  Sep06  Oct06  Nov06  Dec06
Jan05  Feb05  Mar05  Apr05  May05  Jun05  Jul05  Aug05  Sep05  Oct05  Nov05  Dec05
Jan04  Feb04  Mar04  Apr04  May04  Jun04  Jul04  Aug04  Sep04  Oct04  Nov04  Dec04
Jan03  Feb03  Mar03  Apr03  May03  Jun03  Jul03  Aug03  Sep03  Oct03  Nov03  Dec03
 Jan02  Feb02  Mar02  Apr02  May02  Jun02  Jul02 Aug02  Sep02  Oct02  Nov02  Dec02 

eXTReMe Tracker
jack of diamonds
Life viewed from London E3

» email me
» follow me on twitter
» follow the blog on Twitter
» follow the blog on RSS

my flickr photostream