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.