A lonely death

There has been much talk in the bay today. A single-hander was found dead in his cabin this morning, after his dinghy was seen to be floating upside down behind his boat. There were no suspicious circumstances – an ex-RAF pensioner and a gifted violinist, he was apparently an inveterate alcoholic who had recently turned to methylated spirits for succour.

I didn’t meet him, but I cannot get this bloke out of my mind. A sad and lonely way to shuffle off. But then again, is there any other way to go? My conviction about my immortality has been shaken once again.

It’s all about how and when, and what you do to fill in the gap between now and the event. I have been known to have the odd ale, but I have today foresworn metho for all time.

Chris has always said each of us lives and dies alone – one of the many things about which we have argued perennially. Perhaps she’s right. But I don’t cherish the idea, although buggerising round in the middle of the ocean I’m not doing much to remedy that bleak view.

Our Canadian friend Mike says his friend’s boat will be stripped bare in the next few days. Perhaps that doesn’t matter. Were I to shuffle off unexpectedly I wouldn’t give a toss about my remains. I think I’ve said all that needs to be said to those I love, but I’d much prefer (and expect) Russell, Merv, Maxine and Ian to take care of Tainui’s future for me. Hope you’re reading this, comrades.

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