mickle
innit
- Location
- 53.933606, -1.076131
My oldest and dearest friend Andy has been living on borrowed time since being diagnosed with cancer of the colon and pancreas. About three and a half years ago he was told he had 18 months to live. Hes on huge doses of morphine and other drugs to keep him going and his condition fluctuates a lot. Recently the hard days have outnumbered the good days, he spends days in bed in agony, and he had decided long ago that he wouldnt go back into hospital when his condition deteriorated.
Ive spent as much time with him as I could over the last few years though I live hours away from London and have work commitments. A couple of weeks ago we spent a great couple of days together in London, visited the BM, the Tate Modern and the Design Museum. Lovely days. 'Memory days' if you know what I mean.
He has been pestering me to get a Giant Halfway for him, I havent had time to follow it up so instead I lent him my Brompton.
I hadnt heard from him for a few days, we usually talk twice a week, and his phone was turned off. I didnt think much of it, his sleep paterns are very erratic.
His neighbour called me the other night when I was out on the town (with a 'baby elephant lover' of this parish). According to the little information Matt was given Andy had fallen off the Brompton, smashed his head off the floor and has been in a coma ever since.
Naturally Im really upset but my first thought was ' God I hope my bike's alright'!!!
Jeez.
(The thread title refers to Andys story of being followed home from a gay bar in the early eighties by an amorous and very under aged George and shouting at him to F-off every few yards)
Ive spent as much time with him as I could over the last few years though I live hours away from London and have work commitments. A couple of weeks ago we spent a great couple of days together in London, visited the BM, the Tate Modern and the Design Museum. Lovely days. 'Memory days' if you know what I mean.
He has been pestering me to get a Giant Halfway for him, I havent had time to follow it up so instead I lent him my Brompton.
I hadnt heard from him for a few days, we usually talk twice a week, and his phone was turned off. I didnt think much of it, his sleep paterns are very erratic.
His neighbour called me the other night when I was out on the town (with a 'baby elephant lover' of this parish). According to the little information Matt was given Andy had fallen off the Brompton, smashed his head off the floor and has been in a coma ever since.
Naturally Im really upset but my first thought was ' God I hope my bike's alright'!!!
Jeez.
(The thread title refers to Andys story of being followed home from a gay bar in the early eighties by an amorous and very under aged George and shouting at him to F-off every few yards)
