Until yesterday I didn't really know what it was like to have someone you are close to die before their time. I'd had grandparents die but they were old and you can think things like "well they had a good innings". Not so with the young.

I learnt yesterday that my good friend Phil Hutchinson died on Saturday in a car accident in Canada. He was only 30. I don't know more details about the accident. His flatmate emailed me and has been letting people know.

He was part way through 5 months in Canada and seizing every opportunity that came his way with tales of skiing and getting out in the cold. He'd been on a training course in Scotland beforehand (toolkitting as he called it) and been to the Alps to use those skills. In his usual way he had loved it all and came back with great stories before he went off to Canada. I'll always remember his enthusiasm for things. And the overdoing it. And the switch to a lecturing tone before a random tale about why such and such worked the way it did.

Suddenly every trite saying about death makes sense. I walked numbly into town after I heard and didn't understand why people were still walking about normally, chatting, laughing, going round the sales. Didn't they know?
But of course they didn't.
I wanted to scream "Stop all the clocks" at them til they understood.
But they wouldn't and shouldn't have to

And then you do the normal things you do because you have to. Because what else is there. And you put a mask on and get on with things.

But I cry.

I miss him.