Nidge

NIDGE

Nidge was a fool who talked nonsense nearly all the time

He was maddening, infuriating, sometimes boring but never dull

He was kind, he was generous, he was warm, he was genuine

He was hilariously funny

He was an enthusiast

He was a dreamer and a fantasiser – spinning lines no one could believe but himself

He was a self-deprecating egotist, he laughed at himself and encouraged others to do likewise

He was religious, he was a blasphemer, he was a Christian and a Pagan – a superstitious man who habitually took absurd needless risks

He was an idealist and a sinner who respected purity and who sought it in his own fashion

He was a drunkard, a drug addict and an abstainer

He was a bad poet who read and loved good poetry

He was a bad singer who listened well, an abominable musician who loved music with all his heart

He was a fine solo dancer, ostentatious and un-self-conscious, with graceful arms and hands – even when completely plastered

He was swayed by flattery and longed for praise and was deeply embarrassed by both

He wrote stories for children

He was imaginative

He loved animals and refused to eat them

He was an innocent

He was a natural leader who never sought to lead, whose friends included many followers

He was an instigator and a rebel, an anarchist with no interest in politics, an historian with a selective memory

He was a fighter and a pacifist on the front line, a rioter and a magnet for police and thieves

He was always scrupulously honest in criminal matters

He was supremely gregarious, an excellent host and a fine cook

He was spontaneous and impulsive

He was always broke and always lending money

He was a lover and a husband and a father

He was a carpenter and a provider, a scholar and a bum

He was completely unreliable and utterly dependable and trustworthy

He was tall and thin, ungainly, with a huge shock of flaming red hair

He was completely English and he considered himself a Celt

He was ashamed of his real name – Nigel – and forgave his friends for mocking it

He was ashamed of his respectable background and forgave his friends for mocking it

He was perfectly and absurdly dressed and sometimes he wore women’s makeup and forgot to shave

He used to wear a decrepit top hat with a flower in the band

He wore jewellery and many rings and bangles of primitive or Pagan design

He was always ‘hip’ but never ‘cool’

He had style

He greeted friends with a warm salutation and an embrace and he smelled of leather and tobacco

He ‘bounced’ – like Tigger from Winnie The Pooh

He laughed loud and often, not at but with others

He was educated and cultured and more often than not he spent his time with philistines

He was well spoken and only rarely tried to disguise his accent

He would sign himself as ‘he of the lean and hungry look’ and describe himself as the ‘cream faced loon’ or the ‘shag haired villain’

He would quote endlessly from Shakespeare and Vivian Stanshall – whom he worshipped, along with Iggy Pop

He was an artist with no palette, an orator with no soapbox who invited scorn and derision

He was wise and reckless

He inspired love and friendship and laughter

He was loyal and true and he betrayed no one more completely than himself

He was real and human and enormously alive

He was my friend, he was my brother and my comrade and I loved him

He is dead.

(September 1992)