All growed up

16 April, 2012 (21:43) | All articles | By: Stuart Fraser

Something really rather odd seems to have happened when I wasn’t looking: I, apparently, have grown up.

When did it happen? How did it happen? I have no idea. But it did, obviously, for today I found myself in a room with my parents’ friends and contemporaries and I was as old as I remember them being.

In the car on the way to today’s gig, knowing we’d see folks we hadn’t seen for a while, Management asked: “Do you think it’s OK that my hair’s grey? Do you think people will be shocked?” Quite who I should have taken matters up with if I thought it not OK that her hair was grey was not made clear to me.

Nobody seemed bothered. She was her usual beautiful self, grey or not. But though I, in my mind, was youthful and eager and keen on all the things I was keen on when I was a teenager and excited at seeing my friends, it seemed clear that actually, now, I was an adult. A father. With a grey beard. And responsibilities. And a dead friend.

Today’s gig was my friend John’s memorial service. Is it the departure of a friend, rather than the departure of older members of the family, that puts a full stop to the process of growing up, then? It seems so for me. We all seemed to have a shiver of mortality down our spines today. We talked about the frailties and illnesses of our parents – you know, the ones who’d pick us up and dust us down only now it’s us doing the picking and dusting.  We wore, the Lord help us, suits. (Though in my defence mine was borrowed from Brother Fiddle). We were polite and smiling and went back to the Parish Hall for tea and cake.

And we said that it was a good send-off because it was. But part of me, the bit that hasn’t grown up, wanted to put on my jeans, go down the pub and get colossally pissed and roar at the fates; the grown-up had to drive home and see to the kids.

We stopped at my mother’s grave in the village churchyard where I grew up, as I haven’t visited it since she died. She lies at the end of a row of tombstones to her ancestors going back hundreds of years and it hit me with a jolt that she (and Dad, may the day be long ahead) will be the last of our family to do so. I can be put out in a bin bag for all I care, but at the most my ashes will be thrown to the wind some place I’ve walked with the dogs. That seemed a grown-up thought to have, so I made a juvenile and improper suggestion to Management, but she seemed to have grown up too.

I know there are brothers and sisters of this page who may think themselves grown up, and I know there are others, some of them Very Bad Men, who even at a very advanced age are most definitely not grown up.

For example, the Brother Who Must Not Be Named said today that some biker acquaintances were off on a ride aboard their mean machines. He was invited. “Where are you going?” he asked. They told him the route: off to such-and-such and stop at a café and then back via such-and-such, stopping for an ice-cream on the way.

An ice cream? Bikers? Now that’s grown up. The Brother Who Must Not Be Named made his excuses.

What do you think? Will I have to become a Tory and eat ice creams now? Or can I be grown up and the young man I still think myself to be at the same time? I seem to be angry still; I have no urge to read the Daily Mail; I still like music with loud guitars in. Perhaps there’s hope.

Though we all seem to be middle-aged somehow, it was very lovely to see old friends today.

Friendship seems absolutely the same whether you’re grown up or not. Certainly, there may be less comedy debagging and the like, but sitting in my church pew and trying to collect my thoughts in order to speak about my friend in front of hundreds of people, for this was today’s gig, I looked around and met smiles and nods and felt pats on the back and encouragement and thought: “What a very lucky man I am.”

Up on the hind legs I tottered and felt a tremendous wave of warmth, the warmth John generated all his life kindled in these few hundred people wanting to smile for him. A very extraordinary and moving feeling.

We discussed last week the difficulty of having faith in people, but today, brought together by great sadness, it felt possible again to do so.

Now that, my friends, is a very grown-up thought.

Grown up, but still angry

Thanks to Brother Rich, who retweeted the comedian John Bishop’s link to David Conn’s article ‘Hillsborough and Battle of Orgreave: one police force, two disgraces’ in The Guardian (http://www.guardian.co.uk/football/hillsborough-disaster) . Treat yourself. The Daily Mail, it ain’t. History, it is.

Comments

Comment from Hamster
Time April 17, 2012 at 1:11 pm

All growed up? don’t think I am going to do that in a hurry but growed out has definitely happened.
My thoughts were with you yesterday and although I didn’t know John very well from what has been said about him, it sounds as if he lived life. A note to all!

Comment from Hamster
Time April 17, 2012 at 1:20 pm

This weeks Hamster Top Tip – Please do your bit to help Cornwall fend off the encroaching drought. Save water by drinking more beer.
Now how’s that for a Top Tip Stuart?

Comment from Bertie
Time April 17, 2012 at 5:12 pm

I don’t know about feeling grown up, I just feel old. I was in a small shop the other day and a can of coke was £1.05……”HOW MUCH?” I whispered to myself. My god, I feel like my Grandad!!!!!

Comment from Hamster
Time April 17, 2012 at 6:18 pm

Took this from a book my buddy lent me. “When you reach middle age yourself, you find that it has a very simple definition. Middle age is when you look in the mirror and realise that you look and feel as good as you will ever look and feel. That’s not to say that you are at some sort of peak; its just that from here on in, things are only going to get worse.” – Do I need to panic! Can anyone confirm this for me?

Comment from Stuart
Time April 17, 2012 at 10:50 pm

Now THAT’S what I call a top tip. Brother Hamster, you can count on me. And thanks for your kind words again.

Comment from StentsRus
Time April 18, 2012 at 6:59 am

Don’t worry Hamster you won’t loose your looks…your eyesight will be fading soon.

Comment from Numbers
Time April 20, 2012 at 9:54 am

This being Frankly Fraser article number 52 = 1 year old – Happy Birthday!

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