I first met Guy in London . He was a friend of a friend. He loved parties, he drank, restaurants. We stormed around london in his car. Turned left at no left turns went 60 in 30 mph areas. Up one way streets the wrong way . I loved it. He was my idea of a Frenchman. Irreverant, small slim, smoking Gauloises , well dressed, living life at both ends. In those dreary days, no money , shabby flat, drizzling weather, train strikes, he was the shining light in my daily routine. A hope a gaity that I found nowhere else.
He left, back to France. His gay bachelor days were over. He married, and settled down lived near avenue Kleber in Paris.
I missed him, I’d go and live in Paris, why not. I hunted around for some jobs. What do they offer ? Little French, little education, little experience. Well we’ll just have to do this on BS. If all else fails tell the truth. I love your country, I love French people, I want to work and live here and I’ll do anything.
Anyway I decided to go over and check things out. So I flew over and went to see Guy. He’d changed, settled down, he was less irreverent. I discovered that French people are more serious about their own country than other people’s . Less traffic violations, the gendarmes were feared more than any bobby. But the fun was still there. The parties, the restaurants, Harry’s bar at two in the morning, flighty women on our arm.
The lit up Seine, the bateau mouche. I had a wonderful few days. Down to the bar in the morning, for a large black coffee and a croissant . There we were standing side by side, I can still see him nonchalantly lighting a cigarette, his shirt collar too big for his thin neck. Watching the market men who had finished setting up their stalls. They downed a pousse café cognac along with a steak frites at 8 in the morning. This was life, this was fun, you could feel the electricity, I was coming over.
I liquidated my affairs in London and flew over with a one way ticket . I rented a shared flat with a druggy American down near port Royal.He was slightly more broke than I was and so I would lend him some money. Oh we had some great evenings down at the academy de bière Belge. if you could get in. It was overbrimming at 2am. Moules frites on the pavement. Guy would come too, the early months in Paris were a revelation. He introduced me to his friends .
BS works, never believe the contrary. I did the temp shops and from short dead end assignments I finally got some steady work and could afford a real flat.
I married, he is there in my wedding photo, that inimitable chirpy smile.
Over the years I still saw Guy. Every time we met there was that spark of life again. The fun the foolishness, the couldn’t care less of youth came rushing back. As we became settled family men, living further apart, we saw each other less. But we could never go too long without reviving our joint fun . Weekends in his country house. Half drunk gardening .
It was like a film. He was aging me too. But for those few hours we were back in our youth . A flashback. We pretended that the years had not changed us, that we were still the two crazy young guys on the town . No children no wives no houses ; just out to have fun. Turn back the years relive it the way it was.
It happened in a cinema. He crumpled up and went lifeless. His son was at his side. Rushed to the hospital, put on a machine. And there he lay, unconscious. Aged, wrinkles ,heavier. But it was Guy, it was my Guy the one that I loved. It was the end of his life, but it was a bit of mine that went too.
After two days they switched off the machine, he is in the ground now, dead.
RIP Guy.
Boadicea's Chariot 
Sounds as though Guy was an interesting character, larger than life and a good friend. RIP Guy and of course you will miss him.
Bloody Hell MoO,
Thats man love that is.
You do realise you would never have got away with this soul baring on MyT don’t you?
However, this is a whole other site and I thank you for this insight, seems like you are not a complete and utter tosser after all. 🙂
Nice piece, very well written. Guy may be gone but he is obviously not forgotten.
Sorry to read about the loss of your friend MoO. True friends are very rare and your world is an emptier place without him.
RIP Guy.
A caring epitaph to someone who was, obviously, an important part of your life. Thank you for sharing this with us.
RIP Guy.
at least you recognized what a good laugh he was before it was too late.
you went to france for exactly the right reasons, and you bought a one way ticket. good on you.
Evocaztive writing Moo and a delight to read. I do so wish you would continue in the same vein here and leave the Dick of Orleans personality elsewhere.
OZ
I know we have crossed swords in the past but I’m sorry for your trouble Roo, sounds like he was a good bloke and you were a good friend to him, that blog was written with love, passion, friendship and soul, you have lost a friend and firm friends are hard to come by, keep him in your heart and in your mind, remember the good times and raise a glass from time to time.
Zang
I agree with your 11.29, looks like he could be an asset rather than a wind up, time will tell, whats your spin on the political situation?
Sorry
Just realised what I have done, very crass of me to ask about politics on a personal post about the death of a friend, please accept my apologies.
So sweet, MOO. He was a real mate. A lovely testimony. Thanks for sharing.
OMG – Moo can write, no doubt about it, as could Brendano – it is just that Moo can show that AS fixation and Brendano had an ego the size of a planet, both traits being detrimental to the endearment of that particular avatar.
OZ
P.S. Our (still) unelected and unelectable PM is out of the country – the country being ENGLAND you foriegn MctThobbers. Change the locks at No. 10 whilst the b’stard is still north of the border.
“Half drunk gardening” – love it; that says it all! Thats a lovely read MoO and a wonderful plug for France and Guy. You’ll miss him bad but as OMG says – raise the glass from time to time. Life is short and its long time dead. Thanks for sharing Guy with us.
Thanks for the comments.
I would wallow in Brendano’s Irishness and not ask him to anglicize. But then that’s me, lover of different cultures.
Sorry to hear of the loss of your friend.
Which cultures apart from faux-French? You show no love of anything British.
Janus I love them all and take them as they are.The brits make me laufgh.
Come on Janus, there are some bloody good cultures in French cheese. Some of the best in the world. 🙂