Absent friends.
This morning I heard that one of my colleagues had died, it wasn't entirely a surprise, I'd been told that he had been badly affected by an infection following chemotherapy. I had only just heard that he'd had a cancer diagnosis, since we were both got rid of by the theatre company we worked for a couple of years ago (Arts Council inspired rationalisation is the polite way of describing that particular episode), we only communicated sporadically; as his widow said, when she wrote to tell us about his illness, he was an intensely private man. Nonetheless we had developed a genuine affection for each other and I liked to send him stories from Scotland (he was originally from Edinburgh) to remind him what he had left behind when he moved to Spain.He was a walking exemplar of the adage 'if you can remember the sixties you weren't there'; he'd gone to The Stones in Hyde Park gig, but left because he was bored, worked for a forthnight at the Roundhouse for The Doors and Jefferson Starship but couldn't remember a thing about it, all in all he had forgotten more performance history than I'll ever know. His theatrical pedigree was equally comprehensive and diverse, he wasn't always the most diplomatic perhaps, but his instincts were nearly always right, unlike his sense of direction, which was almost invariably catastrophically wrong.
When I first met him, and realised that I was committed to three months touring Europe in a slow truck with him, I genuinely thought I might have to kill him, but gradually we developed a mutual understanding based (I hope) on an appreciation of each other's professionalism. By the time we had been working together for five years this had grown into an affectionate bickering, we channelled Statler and Waldorf from behind the sound and lighting desks (whichever job we happened to be doing in that show), mocking the idiocy of the performers and their agonising creative process, whilst at the same time remaining committed to putting on the best show possible. I think his compulsory retirement was more problematic for him than mine was, he'd been with the company for more than twelve years, and he hadn't really contemplated doing anything else and the opportunities for casual theatre work are even more limited in rural Spain than they are in Deeside.
So, I'm very sad tonight, but things move on, I will plant a tree to commemorate him, but just for now I'll raise a glass of Merlot and drink to Ray.
posted by Lampy @ 1/26/2016 10:03:00 pm
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