Category: Journal

A 560 mile round trip took us down to Sussex at the weekend, for the funeral of our friend Chris Guscott.

I have to admit that on the drive down I had a feeling of apprehension about the event. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to make the trip – far from it – it was purely dread of the inevitable wave of sorrow I knew I’d feel when I saw Rose, Jess, Anna, Becks, and Kate, plus a host of other family and friends of Chris that I had yet to meet.

As with most things that appear daunting, the reality was far less uncomfortable than I had imagined. Well, except for the part at the church – that just felt awful and surreal at the same time. As Fliss and I struggled to control Elisha, each and every person did the same with their emotions as the ceremony wore on.

Once outside for the commital it was even harder to hold back the tears. As Chris was lowered to his final resting place, in contrast to the mood, the sun chose that moment to stream powerfully through the clouds in a way that almost seemed inappropriate. But then, from what I’ve seen of him, Chris always had a good tan, so I think he would have approved.

Squinting through teary eyes in the sunlight, I watched as his beloved wife, daughters and son said goodbye, dropping their flowers into the grave in turn. It proved to be as harrowing a moment as I’ve experienced, yet somehow the strength of Rose, Simon, and the girls was more than enough to steady everyone gathered at the cemetery. Rose was even unfaltering when she asked, almost matter-of-factly, for those present to join them at the church hall for food and drink.

With that, the sombre part of the day was more or less over. Now we could gather together to recall memories of Chris (or in my case, learn more about him), drink some wine, and (best of all) listen to his eclectic taste in music for the rest of the afternoon.

Given the circumstances I think it turned out to be a lovely day – as well as paying my respects to a fine man, I got to meet many of the extended family for the first time. There were relatives from around the country, and from Australia and the USA, that were great to chat with, and Elisha proved to be very popular with Beck’s four year old son, Freddie. (Although it was hard work keeping up with the pair of them!)

I was completely knocked for six this afternoon when Fliss told me that our friend Chris Guscott had died while on holiday with his wife, Rose.

Chris was a wonderful man – eccentric and enthusiastic in equal measure, and with a sharp wit and intelligence that always made me want to listen when he spoke – even when it was in Portuguese.

His love for trains and railways was just one of the things that made him a great character. He’d come home from a hard day at work, grab his dinner, and plonk himself down on the sofa to eat it while he studiously thumbed through a magazine about trains. The rest of the family would mock him about that, but I quietly thought it was brilliant.

On the shelves of the spare room were a variety of scale models – all waiting for a track to run on, back when we visited in July, just like they had been when we visited two years previously. I know this because I’d examined each one closely during both visits, hoping one day to see them in a scene similar to those depicted in the train magazines littered around the house.

I guess some things you just never get round to doing.

Although I only met him twice, Chris welcomed us into his home with open arms when we visited, and I’m glad we got to introduce him to Elisha during the summer. I’m going to miss Chris dearly, and my sympathies go out to Rose and the family for their loss.

Adeus, my friend.

A couple of weeks back I went to Broadgreen Hospital for the results of the MRI scan on my left knee. The appointment was at 8:30 on a Monday morning, which conjured up images of heavy rush hour traffic that would make the journey from my house to the hospital a bit of a grueling affair.

On the day it was a pretty straight forward trip. The traffic wasn’t bad, and I was in the area in good time. I asked someone in the car beside me for a pointer in the right direction at one junction, and pulled over for confirmation from a pedestrian when I was sure I was close by the hospital grounds. Finding my way to the main reception area for the Orthopaedic unit at just after 8:20, I discovered that there was no parking there and I had to double back to the main car park. Even though it was a good five minute walk from where my appointment was, I managed to get back and report myself to the desk staff with seconds to spare.

Before I could even say who I was, a very gruff middle aged man spat “take a seat” without even looking up at me. Slightly taken aback by his blunt approach, I went and took a seat near a table with some ragged looking newspapers and magazines on it. I chose a car mag from the selection and began flicking through, but it turned out that it was quite dated.

As I sat I overheard the gruff man dish out his instructions to each and every patient that arrived. I’ve always wondered why people that should clearly not be in public facing jobs end up being so. Like when I was a taxi driver, there were other drivers who just hated picking up passengers – that could have explained why they were so bloody miserable all the time.

Anyhow, I sat in the waiting room thumbing through my dated car magazine until captain gruff asked for people to come to the desk with their appointment detials. This created a queue of people who were either limping or on crutches, making said people stand and wait to be attended to by captain gruff. For fucks sake, this is an orthopaedic unit – it seemed pretty obvious to me that people were there because they have knee, hip, foot, or whatever problems that are causing them pain. So why scowl at them when they first arrive and tell them to take a seat, then make them stand waiting on you ten minutes later. Honestly, I have a lot of patience for the NHS because it’s never let me down when I’ve needed treatment, but this kind of shit is why it gets a bad name. I hope captain gruff ends up on the other side of the counter one day, because he was a genuine asshole.