The last 24 hours has been a rollercoaster ride for my guts and nerves, and no mistake. The apprehension of Ian's funeral has been at the front of this rise and fall of adrenelin or whatever the fuck it is that gives you that fight or flight feeling in your stomach.
Reviewing Glasvegas in Barfly on Monday night was a nice aside from the other stuff, and pulled me in somewhat in reminding me that there is plenty out there to be discovered and enjoyed, and things are never bad enough for you to swing from a tree in a graveyard in fucking Newport.
Yesterday I commanded myself to remain composed for my talk to the creative writing freshers at the Uni of Glamorgan, and I was fine until I was introduced by CM and stood up to address the 100 or so pairs of eyes that had already been talked at for half an hour by lecturers. I went from confident and funny to quivvering mess in the space of a minute. I cut it short sat down and sweated it out with a twitching beamer; a fucking horrible feeling. A few came and took my card at the end though, so I must have made some impression.
From there down to Thornhill Crem for Ian's funeral. Fuck me, what a turnout. Faces I hadn't seen since the Emporium days in 99 were out in force, although at the service the last thing I wanted to do was speak to anyone. Choking back tears is something I've always been good at, but when that curtain closd and Ian's Mum started wailing it took every ounce of restraint I had to stop me doing the same. 30 years old. A talented, loved and respected DJ. Why, mate?
Talking to Spud, Jon and Swiss in the Vic Park pub afterwards, and it turns out Ian left Move at whatever time then went home to Fairwater where he lived with his parents - who were on holiday - and his brother. At around 6am he texted(?) his best mate in Porth saying "Thanks for being such a top mate, please take care of all my vinyl and CDs." His mate who is in bed shows his missus, who immediately thinks something is up and they call him. No answer. They drive down to Ian's house by 7.30am, wake Paul who tells them he came in at 3am but then went back out. They found his body at around 9am in the graveyard behind his on / off girlfriend's house.
At the wake I kept getting and ignoring calls from work, which stressed me out further, then on my arrival home another three 500+ word emails about the website launch and other shite that's not helping with my current mindset. An early night was essential, and I feel refreshed and ready this morning. That's how it is. Tomorrow is another day. The first day of the rest of your life. Now I just need to sort out those credit cards, backlog of work, Glasvegas review, meeting agenda and my missus' main birthday present. By tomorrow.
No comments:
Post a Comment