There are a few moments when life changes. In my day, it was meeting your partner across a crowded room. Now it’s sadly the flick of an app. What hasn’t changed is that only later do you realize this really was a moment.
This isn’t a story about romance or, as I’m straight and it’s about meeting my mate Nigel, a bromance. It’s more about twisted fate.
It was either during the interval of a play, or afterward, that we were introduced. We had a lot in common. We both loved comedy and worked in comedy; we’re writers and equally irascible. We also loved whisky, though it was only much later and after deep, deep tribulation that this would prove to be a saving grace. (A tale that will be picked up next week.)
We were wary of each other; the irony of deeply shallow is a cliché perfect for show business. Acquaintances many, friendship a rarity.
We also were set up.
My wife was friends with his partner. Both were well aware of our shortcomings, but thought we’d get on. They were right.
Happy days laid ahead: Him getting drunk on a small motor boat on the Thames (you just dock at pubs on the river front!). I became the responsible one and skippered. Luckily, the skill set of driving a car proved enough. And you just can’t get lost — it’s either up or down river.
We were gone from their house for so long my eight-year-old showed his displeasure by throwing a Game Boy (an early hand held computer toy) into the river. It wasn’t even his! A new one had to be bought, and then surreptitiously replaced.
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