August 29th 2023

I spent the few days over the 5th funeral anniversary in Copenhagen.

On the anniversary itself I took myself down to Nayhavn for dinner. It was a little further from the hotel than I like to go on these nights. I’m not much of a drinker but I know I’m going to be over the edge towards the end of these evenings, and I prefer to be within stumbling distance of where I’m staying but I’d made a decision and decided to stick to it.

I had Tom Waits ‘Tom Traubert’s Blues (Four Sheets to the Wind in Copenhagen) – a song I’d played before I left and one that always gets me swallowing hard – playing around my head, probably not a good idea as Nayhavn is impossibly romantic and it’s not a place for dancing to a beautiful, sad song with an invisible presence. The lines ‘It’s a battered old suitcase / In a hotel someplace / And a wound that will never heal’ were in my head, and the Donna Ashworth ‘Loss’ text that seemed so appropriate with what I was doing with my life now.

It was OK, dinner was nice, the really friendly waiter was intrigued as to why I was there on my own, so I decided to tell him, at which point he became incredibly concerned and looked after me all evening. Like so many others he said what I was doing was ‘brave’ but I just don’t see it. I was in a fantastic capital city, the European Capital of Culture for 2023 and having a good meal and copious amounts of Malbec. Someone was missing and always will be, but what else can I do?

It’s been a pretty momentous year for me for reasons many will understand and for other reasons many may not, and it seems a good time to end this. Next February will be our 20th Wedding Anniversary and I plan to be somewhere special then but, even so, unless I turn this into a travel blog then I’ve said almost everything I need to say, or at least, everything I can conceivably convey in words.

I’d like to try and close this for anyone who stumbles on this and just finds me at the end of a five-year learning curve but, for the moment, it’s just a case of raising a glass of red to the night sky and ensuring the stars they will never be forgotten.

If someone you love
did not make that trip
you can make it
for them
With them
If someone you love
did not witness that milestone
you can show them
anytime you like
If someone you love
did not do their own living
you can finish those dreams
on their behalf
The beautiful thing about love
is that death need not stop life
If you carry someone in your heart
you can take them with you
Anytime you like

Donna Ashworth ‘Loss’

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July 29th 2023

La tristesse durera toujours

I discovered Yahrzeit earlier this year. Yahrzeit is a Yiddish word used to denote the anniversary of the passing of a wife or husband or close relative. I like this. There needs to be words for these things.

I spent the fifth yahrzeit in Budapest. I know that, as long as I’m mobile and able to do this – or get someone to push me perhaps! – I will be away for every anniversary. There’s always a cathedral, major church or shrine to visit – in this case St Stephen’s basilica – and beyond that I mark each day respectfully, doing something I know she’d like but also something that celebrates life in general. I’ve found that usually entails visiting a well-known landmark, a river cruise and a long walk. I end the day in a nice restaurant and I get drunk. I don’t get drunk any other time of the year – I’m a morose drunk and it’s not really a pleasure for me – but it’s my one concession of the day. I make sure the restaurant is of sufficient quality foodwise, the wine list is good and I can stagger back to whatever hotel I’m staying in.

During the days leading up to the anniversary and on the day itself, I post on social media. There are a lot of Gail’s friends who follow what I do and I think it’s nice to remember that they lost someone dear to them too. It has struck me that some may think I should ‘move on’ – there is always someone trying to get you too move on, even trusted friends – but I was never bothered by that and, after five years, I’m getting to the stage that I’m not even bothered at being bothered any longer.

Next moth is the anniversary of the funeral and I plan to be in Copenhagen. After that, I will try and think of something pithy to end this.

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June 7th 2023

We won! Covered in ‘Massive’

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June 5th 2023

I posted:

“I swore to you in August 2018 that, in whatever time was allotted to me, I’d try to get to all those places we never got to, and anything I saw I’d see for you as well.”

“I also swore I’d never go back to anywhere we’d been together because… well, it wouldn’t seem right, and I wasn’t sure I could handle it anyway.”

“But…”

“Well, look, West Ham are in a European final – I know, right? We’re all pretty stunned here too! – and the match is in Prague and you know I have to go…I really do. But I’ll not go anywhere near the Imperial. Even for a cake – and you know how much I love a cake and how delicious those cakes were.”

“It was ten years ago this very week we were there and I’ve even got some koruna left from that trip. We had such a laugh that holiday even though the weather was atrocious; that Art Deco bedroom in the hotel made up for it. I can still taste that warming soup they had. But I hear it’s not raining this time, the Vltava hasn’t burst its banks, the city isn’t underwater, the Charles Bridge isn’t in danger of being swept away and won’t be closed. Apparently, it’s hot and sunny so I’ll walk across the Charles this time, I promise. I’ll be thinking though.”

“Oh, and I know you hated me wearing West Ham-related clothing while we were on holiday – though I still maintain that distant cry of ‘COME ON YOU IRONS’ drifting on the wind at sunset across the Dunes of Maspalomas was really, really funny (“Right that’s it! I’m going through your suitcase next time!” ) – but I’ll be wearing the 1965 European Cup Winners Cup shirt that you gave to me at my book launch (yea, the one that made me cry). I think that’s allowed this time.”

“I won’t lie; I am trepidatious about this but then if we win, it will be glorious, won’t it?”

“And warm”

It was warm. I did walk across the Charles Bridge and I thought a lot as I did it. Out for a walk alone on the last night, I was overcome by a desire just to see where that Art Deco hotel – the Imperial – from 2013 was. I found it on Google maps and was surprised to find that, walking back to my own hotel along the Na Porici, the Imperial seemed to be in the direction I was walking… somehow unsurprisingly, I found it was about 100 yards from where I was staying! Far from not going near it, I’d actually passed it on a tram every day during the five days I was in the Czech capital. I’d had a drink, it was about 1.30am and I stood looking at the hotel from across the Na Porici. As I suspected, it didn’t feel right but it was also OK, I was sad but I didn’t feel the need to look longingly at the rails in front of the passing tram either.

Just another one off the list.

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June 3rd 2023

On your birthday anniversary I’ve bought you something from your favourite shop that you can RIP in.

Missing you

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25th May 2023

Welcome to the world Finley Arlo, my first Grandson.

A significant reminder that life ends but it also starts again elsewhere.

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The Man and the Mirror – May 4th 2023

I’ve tried not to get too wrapped up in the emotion of this house move. Admittedly, I’m not one for the ‘looking forward not back’ stuff as I’m not really that type of bloke. I tend to wear my heart on my sleeve, even if the sleeve usually belongs to a jacket that I can’t find because I’ve left it on a chair and the cat is sitting on it.

And let’s be honest, if the situation had been reversed in July 2018 then I suspect Gail would be whopping it up in a place well away from the UK, not getting melancholy in a lovely new house 20 miles away. So, I’ve been positive and pushed on.

Then I found the glittery mirror.

This was the glittery mirror I spoke about in Gail’s eulogy. The one she insisted she wanted to have put up even though she was busy fighting elsewhere. She’d even fixed for our local handyman to come and do it while decorating the downstairs toilet. He turned up the day after Gail died because I’d forgotten to cancel him and I’m genuinely not sure which of us felt worse. I figured he was there and he may as well do the work, but I knew he didn’t think of it in the same way and, in truth, although he put the mirror up OK the rest of the work was pretty shoddy (although I never got round to fixing it).

Anyway, I’d decided the mirror would stay, and I thought it had until I opened up a box expecting to find a canvas but instead found the glittery mirror. The removal men must have taken it down and I’d not noticed in the rush. I felt I was being told something.

Now, despite the fact Gail always insisted on ‘getting someone in’ to do any work following the time I assembled some flat-pack furniture and stepped back to admire my handiwork only to discover I’d screwed my sock to the carpet, I’ve not had a handyman in here (except to do the curtain poles.) I’ve astonished myself by putting up everything even going so far as to buy one of those arm-length spirit levels just to show what a real man I am now. I’ve even put up two Art Deco mirrors. Phil Oakey would recognise me immediately!

Today the glittery mirror has gone back up and, on reflection (I’m in good form today, eh?) I decided to put Andy Warhol’s Gail pic so she can see the glittery mirror. She’s also opposite the painting of the Boleyn Gates and the West Ham shirts but they’ve not come crashing down so I think she’s OK with it.

Rumours I have been approached for my own ITV DIY show are a little premature, however.

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19th April 2023

I’m moving today. A major event that I’ve covered in ‘You Gotta Move On’

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6th January 2023

A serious advocate of the 12 days of Christmas I refuse to take my decorations down before Twelfth Night. So today it’s time to pack away the Christmas decorations and ruminate on the fact that I’m possibly the only heterosexual man in the UK who has a tree full of white and silver shoes and handbags, fluffy white balls and feathers.

Once again, I’ve promised myself I’ll change them but I doubt I ever will; not because of the fear of change but because if/when I do change them I will have a fair number of decorations that I will then be faced with getting rid of. I know myself well enough to realise I couldn’t put them in a black bin bag so it would probably be a donation to a charity shop somewhere and I’m not sure that is a journey I can make.

It made me consider how strange the grieving mind works.

Had Gail been here it’s unlikely I’d be wrapping these shoes and handbags in tissue paper for another year. Gail was a force of nature who brushed all aside when she felt something needed to change. The existing decorations relate to the ‘white and silver phase’ but I’m sure we’ve probably had a ‘red & green’ or ‘purple & gold’ state since then but I’ve just missed it. Gail never missed these things. She had an uncanny knack for knowing when the next thing was coming along to the extent that I’d see her looking for, say a mustard dress or a pair of teal-coloured boots and I’d say ‘Is Mustard/Teal this year’s black?’ ‘You’re larning’ she’d reply. It got to be one of those standing jokes that couples have and it used to make her laugh when I spotted a colour trend on the High Street and managed to get in a ‘Is that this year’s black?’ before something had even entered the house.

I recall traipsing all over Marmaris one year, going into shop after shop until I eventually asked her what the hell we were looking for. ‘Pandora jewellery’ she told me. “Who’s Pandora?” I stupidly asked. “It’s the next big thing” she answered. I knew better to ask how she knew because she always did. There were never any fashion magazines or web sites scrutinised; it was as if she just had some sixth sense or some fashion clip beamed directly into her brain. Sure enough the following Christmas was a rush on Pandora jewellery and Gail had a drawer full to wear or sell. “Wow Pandora” they’d say “Where’d you get that?” while I’d recall a baking hot summer day haggling in a Bazaar with an entranced Turkish trader.

So, deity of choice willing, next December I will again open up the Christmas tree box – almost certainly in a new house – look at the shoes and handbags and wonder if it’s time to seek out the latest thing.

I dunno. I still don’t feel like ‘I’m larning’.

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1st January 2023

The 5th anniversary of Christmas and New Year without Gail and I thought I managed it reasonably well. I did the usual Christmas Eve thing; bought some after-shave in Selfridges, glass of champagne at the Oyster bar and even got a late booking for a production of ‘A Christmas Carol’. I locked the door a bit after I got in, but I saw some friends later in the week and even went to a Pantomime with another friend. Caught up with someone I’d not seen in a good while on NYE afternoon then sat down later with a decent port and some fine cheese to watch Jools Holland’s Hootenanny. Ten minutes in and The Real Thing are on doing ‘You To Me Are Everything’ – Gail’s funeral entrance song if you’ve arrived here late. I mean, ten minutes into 2023? I really don’t believe in anything but sometimes I do feel greater forces are at work. “That’ll larn ya” I hear her say.

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24th December 2022

I’ve always got on well with my brother-in-law from my first marriage. Although we are very different people, there is a meeting of minds of sorts and he ‘gets me’ really well. He emailed me the other day; ‘I won’t ask what type of Christmas you’ll be having. I know you’re a traditionalist. You’ll have been playing Christmas music since November; you’ll have seen at least one production of ‘A Christmas Carol’, you’ll be wearing a Christmas jumper and on the day you’ll have a Champagne breakfast, the speech from the Crown, full Turkey dinner at the table with a decent red. You’ll even share the table with the Ghost of Christmas Past”

It made me laugh a lot.

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23rd December 2022

Tomorrow will be my fifth Christmas Eve without Gail. This barely seems possible.

Christmas Eve 1987, under the clock on High Wycombe Station (Eat yer heart out, Trevor Howard), was the first time I told Gail I loved her and it subsequently became ‘our day’. Though we tried to make sure we spent every subsequent 24th December together, situations at the time dictated we were sometimes apart; though we never really were (if you know what I mean).

When we moved in together in 1994 we made sure we made every Christmas Eve after count but now, strangely, it’s those missed ones before ’94 – the ones where all I had were feelings and memories but couldn’t see her – that get me through every year. I get strength from those. The others rip me to shreds.

I was looking for some festive photos for the Calendar and unexpectedly found this from 2014 and I wanted to post it here. We were doing our usual Christmas Eve West End thing; Harrods, lunch where we first met, Selfridges, Billecart-salmon champagne in the Hix Cocktail Bar overlooking the designer bags area – watching everyone buying last-minute presents that cost us more than we made in a week – then a top meal after Hix (occasionally) threw us out.

As we’d entered the store she’d found this purse. It was pure Gail; Ted Baker ‘Itty bitty’, pink and stupidly expensive. I feigned a lack of interest (not the hardest acting job I’ve had, to be fair), but when we stopped at the Bar I made an excuse and went to buy it for her. I loved buying stuff like this for her, loved seeing her face as she opened it. She could make you feel like a King at times like that. It got good use too, it was the purse she always kept the coins in when we went abroad.

It’s a lovely memory.

I hope you all make your own memories this year and cherish them forever.

Merry Christmas to you all x

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14th November 2022

I’m going to be a Grandad!

Just days after deciding on this ‘Five Years’ post, I learned from my daughter that she’s expecting a baby next May. It came as a great surprise. As this is a grief blog, I don’t want to dwell too long on this, except to say it’s astonishing how quickly your head goes to the circle of life and those who can’t greet the news.

Within minutes of finding out, I found myself having imaginary conversations with my parents and, particularly, Gail who had long ribbed me about my becoming a Grandfather. I found myself at home later feeling strangely at odds with my emotions. I was extremely happy for my daughter and son-in-law of course, ecstatic myself too, but I just couldn’t shift the touch of melancholia on the side.

I’m guessing this another one of those things that people think but never talk about.

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