Saturday, August 24, 2024

My mate, Mat

 When the good are taken too soon

You’ve probably heard that quote from Dickens’ ‘Hard Times’. The girl whose entire life is horses is asked to define a horse. She can’t. Then the teacher asks favourite know-it-all Bitzer who gives a dictionary definition: "Bovine quadruped. Graminivorous,. Forty teeth…."


"There you go girl!" snaps the teacher "Now you know what a horse is."


Charles Fort - 'one measures the circumference of a circle beginning anywhere.' 


So here is an impression of my dear old friend, starting....somewhere.


Random memories of my friend and erstwhile enemy, Matthew Hardyman.


Snippets of our lives which will be meaningless to most or maybe all of you.


Mat was going to be my new Power of Attorney. How ironic that he went before me.


I have to admit my guilt: while others would have broken down I slept after having been given the news, having been unable to process it on the day. I couldn't understand why I wasn't breaking down as everyone else would, as society expects? 


Is it even reality? You're hoping you're in some insane lucid dream that will end soon and everything will be back to normal, although you know. 


You know.


The mere incomprehensibility of Mat not being in my life - let alone his family's - anymore was enough. 


Another number to remove from the favourites of my iPhone. 


So that night I ran a game of D&D for my group in Wells. It’s a weekly commitment and I didn’t feel like staying in and beating myself up for not being all emotional. 


I came back in a good mood, then went to sleep.


In the morning the meaning of it all began to drip-drip in to my consciousness.


Matt and I off our heads in a pub in Green Lanes, Haringey in 1993, alternating hysterical laughter with appalling gut ache.


Racing down to Dorset in Mat’s Renault 5 GT Turbo to reach Mark who’d crashed his supremely dodgy mini van with retread tyres on the way to his first day at Bournemouth college.


We shared a flat for a few years. He’d use everything in the kitchen to make a meal, then go out leaving it all everywhere. He either didn’t understand what was wrong with leaving a mess, or didn’t care.


He could be quite arrogant.


Arguing about him not doing the washing up; Mat finally conceding after 2 hours that he didn’t really like doing the washing up.


His confidence at a young age to argue the facts with anyone. So much so that a garage he harangued so much (where his appallingly unreliable GT Turbo often ended up) were pissed off enough to send him an invoice addressed to “Matthew Hardlyaman”.


He was thick-skinned enough to laugh at it though. That was a trait which took me a long time to assimilate. 


He was a rock. More rational and forensic than anyone anyone else I knew, I would come to him with work or relationship dilemmas and he would always - clinically - lay the arguments flat out and analyse them. 


A complete, instant dissection.


In relationships I naturally accepted that everything was my fault, being the man. But Mat had that barrister’s gift of seeing through the guff and grasping the brass tacks of any given situation. And he did it with such a calm dismantling of the arguments. It was wonderful. If he had been a therapist he could have charged twice the going rate.


I always felt so much calmer and in fact, often rearmed for the next sortie in my many disastrous relationships.  


I don't have that cornerman any more. 


Phobias: Mat had a texture problem with wet wood, so wooden spoons and wooden chopsticks were no-gos.


When writing these eulogies they’re only ever the finished article for a few hours, then something else is remembered. I've been trying to write this for days and it will never be the finished article.


Ah yes, Mat’s fashion choices!


The leather waistcoat, white denim jacket, and some designer black t-shirt with red zips all over it. 


T-shirts always tucked in.


(Of course, all my fashion choices were great….)


Early 90s again; I was on a disastrous date complete with (I’m not kidding) a leper doing card tricks at our table (the gods were doing their utmost to keep me and the awful female from coupling up) and as a coup de grace they sent Mat along to ‘give me a hand.’ Despite me looking him squarely in the eye and telling him in no uncertain terms to 'eff off', he thought I was joking and stayed.


Mat’s incredulity that a nice but dim someone at his university had applied at the same time for the diplomatic service and had got in while he hadn’t even had an interview. Mat’s brilliant gift of the gab combined with his natural confidence made him a fortune doing telesales, but also drove him nuts, so he then applied for the Bar. 


I remember him saying that he couldn’t believe you could get paid for arguing.


Mat always wanted a family. After an unsuccessful first marriage, he then met Suzy. He was overjoyed when Freya arrived in their lives, and then Saffron. He now had a loving family and a dream house. 


Unlike me both Mat and Suzy did grown-up jobs, endlessly juggling duties and work with military-standard organisation.


I'm godfather to his youngest daughter who is a total headcase. 


Good. 


In an increasingly homogenised and commodified world, we need characters - people who are bold enough to stand out and be individuals


So much to say. But with the memories I have that play back in my mind, he’s not really gone. Because I’ll always have those to relive time and again.


Top 500 barrister, MJ Hardyman.









Tuesday, August 13, 2024

Batten down the hatches!

Looking out of the window

Essential for one’s piece of mind. The window I’m intermittently looking out of as I type this looks out onto acres of field, ponds, woodland, and giant sequoia trees. There are a few cirrus clouds on the horizon and the sun beats down. It’s thankfully not as hot as yesterday, and I’m shaded and cool in a very pleasant high-ceilinged drawing room.

Butterflies and dragonflies zip around the pond just out beyond the patio in their multicolours and tall dandelions shake in the cool breeze.

Back home I stare out of the window quite a lot too. It’s part nostalgic as it was always my bedroom when when I was a kid, and the window onto an extremely diminishing world for me.  I no longer have any glint of ambition other than for contentment, but I do feel some guilt that after my chores (which are pretty darn easy) I have the rest of the day to self-indulge. 

Just as well as my executive functions are often offline. 

To my neighbours I’m the weirdo who’s moved back to live with his elderly parents and who stares out of his window and occasionally screams out “ANUS” or any random set of words.

Mostly harmless though.

Meeting People

No. I’m not doing this anymore. Too many weirdos out there. Like the Von Ribbentrops I met in the pub a few times who only revealed themselves when they asked me why I didn’t think white people were being systematically replaced in Europe by brown/Muslim people.

Goodbye. Or in your case, Fuck off.

So for fear of meeting more batshit alt-right, far-right, fascists, crypto-fascists, neo-cons, objectivists,  paedos, boot-boys, Nigel Farages, Tommy Robinsons, Trumpers, Bible-thumpers, conspiracy nut-jobs and general wackos, I’m no longer going to the pub on my own. 

I thought I could just meet people at the pub. I did, but it also turns out to have been a terrible idea.

“Strangers are just friends you haven’t met yet.” (Smiley face.)

Er, bollocks.

Swimming

However, I did book some swimming sessions, in fact 4, and went to 2 as on the other days I was too flustered and busy. I really like swimming and it was lovely to go up and down the 25m pool. There was no lane but being as unfit as I am that didn't matter - I didn't want to draw  attention to myself by being pompous enough to ask for one then showing how crap I was once I'd got it.

So I went up and down, with a few breaks. I lost track of the lengths I'd swum/swam/swimmed and managed 40 minutes both times.

I'm an unfit male in his 50s so naturally I pushed myself like was 25. It was nice to come out shaking, knowing I'd given myself a proper workout. I felt tired but very Zen.

I managed to keep butterflying through my heart attack.

One day last week

(I wrote this last week.)

Took me 15 minutes just to get out for the house this morning. Keys, glasses, phone wallet. Er wrong trousers...Oh god.

I am so tired. I even slept the other day for 2 1/2 hours in the afternoon. I never sleep during the day. (No longer true.)

I had to pass up swimming as it was just too much. I'm falling asleep as I'm writing this.

I was really snappy last night at D&D when running the game. That's not on. 

Walked Tomos then did a food shop. Didn't go to the pool as I tend to push myself too hard, and my uselessness would be compounded by being even more tired, or 'tireder' as the kids say these days.

Kamala Harris and Tim Walz

A month ago someone shot at Donald Trump. And missed. 

I mean out of all the Yanks with too many guns the one guy who tries to take him out is lousy shot. What are the chances?

Then the iconic photo of Trump shouting ”Fight” with his arm aloft looking charismatic as Che Guevara in THAT photo...Biden stuttering and losing his train of thought, it all looked like a Trump landslide.

You couldn’t have staged it any better.

Then Trump chooses Weirdo JD Vance who years ago described Trump as Hitler and himself as a 'Never-Trumper.'

Well how times have changed. Then Biden drops out after pressure from Pelosi, Obama and the Clintons, so smiling, warm, Kamala Harris steps into the fray saying "We're not going back " in reaction to MAGA which is a great response to a deliberately opaque golden age which never existed for ALL Americans - what in Welsh is called "Hiraeth".

Tim Walz was a fantastic, genius pick. 24 years of service in the military, looks like someone's dad or favourite uncle, high school football coach, teacher, and has a great sense of humour. Both are natural with people, and he goes hunting and fishing. 

You may not like the last part, but that goes down really well with many Americans - and it makes him an everyman.  

Taylor Swift -whatever you think of her music - is no fan of Trump, and she has considerable leverage for young voters. Similarly Simone Biles has contributed a lot of money to Kamalsa Harris. Fox News and the right wing media which seems to comprise most of the media in the US, are up in arms trying to denigrate them.

Well Trump can have Kid Rock and Kanye (or 'Ye' as he wants to now be referred and his bizarre anti-semitism), and the Democrats can have Taylor Swift and almost everyone else in Hollywood. 

Fair deal I'd say.

New Computer

I've been umming and ahhing about this (as one does) for ages. Baldur’s Gate 3 is my favourite game. But the iMac which is not designed for gaming - has been struggling to run it - even at the game's lowest graphics setting.

So I bit the big one, and asked those awfully nice chaps at Microbitz in Wells, to make me one. It was ready in one week. 

It was as much as the Mac, but it's quite spectacular, and I only use it for gaming. I'm not really planning on doing any online stuff - just working through RPGs on my own.

It's quite a beast. Here is some techy stuff:

  • Ryzen 7 7800X3D Processor
  • Corsair 280MM CPU Liquid Cooling Loop
  • MSI RTX 4070 Ventus 12GB
  • MSI B650 Gaming Plus Wifi Motherboard
  • 32GB DDR5 6400Mhz CL32 RAM
  • Cooler Master TD 300 Mini Tower
  • Cooler Master GX
  • III Gold Rated Power supply
  • 2TB SSD 
  • Windows 11 Home
No, me neither.

Anyway, I'm now running BG3 at its highest level with blurring, shadows and all kinds of groovy stuff. The PC lights up multi coloured, I have a keyboard that pulses rainbow colours and a mouse which also has these crazy LED lights.

The new set up with new desklights. Less cluttered. 

That’s Mark Hardyman on the left. He’s a BAD person.


Yeah, well. You get the picture.
Apparently this all seems to be very de rigeur for the gaming community.

TBH it does add to the experience!

I even dress like a teenager now.