Paddy

Some stories aren't mine to tell and this is one such occasion but today was the funeral of a chap called Paddy who was one of the nicest people I've ever met. Not that I want to damn him with faint praise: he was charming, funny, friendly and smart. I wish I'd had the time to get to know him better.

There were two wonderful eulogies at the church, one from his brother and one from a lifelong friend, which were hard to listen to. Both mentioned Paddy's appetite for music and books, particularly his love of Kurt Vonnegut. 

There was a story - a true story - that Paddy liked about Vonnegut's uncle. This is taken from an essay in his book 'A Man Without A Country':  "His principal complaint about other human beings was that they so seldom noticed it when they were happy. So when we were drinking lemonade under an apple tree in the summer, say, and talking lazily about this and that, almost buzzing like honeybees, Uncle Alex would suddenly interrupt the agreeable blather to exclaim, "If this isn't nice, I don't know what is."

And I can see, I think, although I didn't know him well, why Paddy would have liked that. 

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-9.7 kgs
Reading: 'The Sound Of Tomorrow' by Mark Brend