My friend

I am amazingly sad as I write this. Yesterday, a dear friend thought life was too much and decided to end it. I have no idea how bad things could be to reach this decision. To feel so alone and without hope. To not confide.

I first met Darren when I volunteered for a dig at Bishopstone in 2004. It was the beginning of the whole Weasel thing and definitely a dig to remember, not least for the rats in the camp and the see through Turdis.

Over the years, our friendship has grown. I have a huge soft spot for Darren. I spent a lot of this afternoon, after hearing the news (thank you, John) remembering our times together. His time as Captain during Weasels Afloat 2010 and 2017, our suffering after eating the raw beef in Poitiers, his drumming in a pub near Lewes, his love of musical theatre and hatred of all things jazz.

He also loved ABBA and thoroughly enjoyed the night we watched a strange ABBA tribute act in a pub in Kent.

I don’t know much about his life outside the Weasels and nothing about his life before I met him. Obviously, there’s the Lewes bonfire stuff and his drumming for various bands. There’s his interest in European battle sites and knowledge of the Battle of Hastings, particularly where he thought it took place. I remember us having a fun chat about that once.

And how could I ever forget Oktoberfest in 2009 and the many Shakespearean performances at The Globe. Particularly when he was mistaken for Kevin McNally, who played King Lear back in 2017.

I last saw Darren on July 8 when he, Lorna and John met me for a Farewell to Gazweasel drink in London. He was the usual Darren, laughing, joking, drinking. I feel extremely sad that I’ll never see him again.

I loved you, Darren. Lots of people did, mate. Thank you for so many happy memories. You will so be missed.