When Nigel and I were undergraduates, we made friends to last us the rest of our lives. You know who you are. Thanks for bearing with us.
One of those was Hugh.
After university, we saw each other regularly including going to stay on the houseboat he was renovating in Cambridgeshire and where, for a time, the loo lacked not just a door but even a wall.
We got on well with his wife, Morag, and when kids came along, ours were a similar age to theirs. In particular, Pascoe and Calum enjoyed making things together.
Hugh’s work took them to Lyons where memorably one of our kids rode a bicycle down their apartment balcony (Why?) and knocked their carefully-aligned satellite dish flying. How were they going to access BBC news now?
But later, Hugh moved his family to “Silicon Valley”, California, (hopefully not just to avoid more home-wrecking visits from us, but for his work, designing microchips). Hugh was no letter-writer and neither were we.
However, I’d thought we might catch up again now that we were becoming empty nesters. It was on my To Do List.
But the other day, Morag sent us bad news. Hugh had been overtaken by a fatal heart attack while out with his local hiking group.
What can I say, except that if there is some dear old friend that you’ve been meaning to get in touch with, do it now.