Death II

Let’s start with the fact that James Dean fucking Bradfield gave me the tightest hug and the strongest handshake on earth. He even mentioned Chile’s rugby team. I told him I’d just arrived from an 18-hour flight and showed him my suitcase and he laughed and said, “you’re a fucking nutter.” He was right.

My flight landed late. I was supposed to land at 3, got there at 4:30, and the signing started at 6. Picture me running through London with a backpack, a suitcase, and zero dignity in a leopard print cost. I still made it. I gave James a zampoña and a small Chilean flag. I gave Nicky a notebook wrapped in aguayo fabric. They were both so kind, so funny, so very them.

A few days later, in Abergavenny, Nicky actually remembered me out of two hundred people. “Oh, I remember!” he said, and I just stood there like, yeah, me again, somehow still breathing.

Then there was Cardiff and Newport. I went to Richey’s flat, walked by the River Taff. It was raining that small Welsh rain that feels like it’s trying to talk to you. I was alone, just walking by the canal, and it felt like he was there somehow. Not spooky, just… present. Like the city still keeps a little piece of him.

I made amazing friends on this trip, and I rekindled some old ones too. I also got taken advantage of, which sucked, but that’s fine. That’s growth. That’s learning where the line is and not crossing it again.

Seven years ago, I was ready to disappear. This year, I was sitting in a business meeting on Strand Street in Covent Garden, having lunch with a Pearson manager, talking about my career, my projects, my future. I still don’t know how I got from there to here, but I did. I came back home with a raise and a promotion.

So yeah, I’m still processing. Still grateful. Still alive.

And please, don’t ever link your favorite things to shitty people. Keep them yours. They might just save you again someday.

P.s. Richey was right. Curlywurly is the best chocolate candy ever 👌

Anywaaaays, here’s a couple of pictures I took.