Random thoughts about Nick: Shooting stars

One August and another.

Early August, and the Perseid meteor shower swings past the planet again.

Nick and I crept out to one of the Downs, to a wheat field, nearly due the cutting, well over the brow of the hill from the city glare.

Gradually our eyes began to get used to the night sky, and then flickers at the edge of vision, fugitive glitters which seemed sure to be – nothing, just eyes playing tricks – intensified, brightened, and resolved themselves into long striations of light passing over us, here, then there.

Finally a speck of light appeared, grew brighter, bigger, closer, hurtling towards us, and instantly winked out. We both jumped, blinked, shook our heads.

I swear we could feel the star grit in our eyes.

Later, as we got up to go, collecting the rugs, Nick looked at the imprint we’d left in the field, which I’ve no doubt has been extra fertile ever since.

“Ahah! A crop oblong!”

‘Shooting stars,’ became a code between us – a secret password.

Now the Perseids are passing  by us once again, on their ineffable journey, as I head south to see him off  on his.

Shooting stars.

Random Thoughts About Nick: I dreamt about my Dad

In Sussex staying with friends and preparing to commemorate one of my oldest friends, Nick Clyne, who died on July 25th. I've been jotting down some random thoughts and memories about him and thought I'd post one or two as they occur.

I dreamt of my Dad.

I’ll explain.

Meeting Nick for the first time, in December 1985, the initial impression was strongly, and rather alarmingly, reminiscent of my father, who had at that point been dead for 11 years.

There were resemblances. Both were witty, affectionate, highly intelligent, fat men with - as I discovered the next day, when Nick invited me round to tea with him and Jessica, then known as the Plum - a much-loved daughter.

Physically, apart from the fat, they were not in the least alike, but their emotional and intellectual signatures were remarkably similar. So much so that, when Nick and I were beginning to make a leisurely progress towards the inside of each other – a journey which began almost immediately  - I found the resemblance off-putting, and told him so.  (I’ve since made peace with the liking for witty, affectionate, highly intelligent fat men – men with curly ginger hair - that seems to have been imprinted on my psyche ever since. I’m married to one, but back then it had not occurred to me that I had a type.)

On Wednesday afternoon, 24^th July 2013, I started to feel ill at work – dizzy and nauseated. I went home early, and the next day stayed off work and off line, feeling the room spin round.

Early on Friday morning I dreamt my Dad was sitting beside me. In Nick’s voice, he told me, ‘I’ve been alive again for a few years, but I’m going to have to be dead for a bit now. Sorry.’ 

I told Barrie what I’d dreamt, went to work and logged onto a computer to check messages.

And there was the announcement of Nick’s death.