Saturday: Sad news. I hear from Gerry O’Boyle that Rachael Dean has died from cancer. Barely a year or so older than me. I’d bump into her from time to time in Highgate and Crouch End, and she and her sister Emily hired me to DJ at a particularly fun party in 2007. Emily wrote about the night in her column for Boyz magazine, with a photo of the three of us, Rachael on the left (PDF file).
Spend the afternoon showing the newly-Camden-based Simon K around what I suppose is my ‘manor’: the Boogaloo (with its rather fun vintage clothes and cake market), and Parkland Walk. Then to the Boogaloo once more for impromptu drinks with Kirsten M. Discover that 5pm to 8pm is the perfect time there for meeting friends – not too crowded, jukebox available. Lots of Monkees being played (Davy Jones died this week).
Both chats are fairly serious. Chats about getting older (we’re all 35-40), of knowing that one never knows how long one has got left, of remaining plans and ambitions. Kirsten and I talk about the film Dreams Of  A Life, about a London party girl who fell off her social radar so completely that no one noticed when she died (a film I recommend to everyone). But more optimistically, these chats bring a renewed sense of knowing how important it is to stay in touch with friends and meet from time to time, just to talk about life. And also, a vivid sense that however trite the expression, life really is too short.
For my part, I’m pleased I’m doing the course I’m doing (some students in my class have dropped out). I definitely want –  need – to earn a modest living from writing, to publish a few books between now and the grave, and to be of use while not doing something I don’t want to do. That’s pretty much my ‘plans’.
Tags: life
