Saddened by the news of Jeremy Clarke's prostate cancer. He announced it, I'm told, in good old fashioned drunken style at the Spectator summer party. I wasn't there to witness it, Jeremy is like a Catherine Wheel of energy and mania. Maybe 10 years ago I might have wanted to stick it out and suck up the glamour.
He's a funny soul, my Jezzer. The life and soul of the party. Yet so lonely and such a monk like existence with his mother in a mansion in Devon. He has no real friends and no one challenges him when he's being a prize cock (often) or when he needs to just calm down and stop ventilating his own hype. I'd have respected him so much more of he hadn't lied to me about something petty major. Who knows we might still be together.
Jeremy has been on my mind a lot recently. I'm not sure why. I've gone months without thinking about him. I let him into my life in a way I haven't, with a man for more than 10 years. I had to let him go. Freedom to roam came with stringent conditions.
Yesterday, blazing sun. A new lover.
He's broken his sunglasses and we're about to get in the car and go for a long drive. We are looking at new ones for him.
"Do you want to approve them..." then he catches himself and says "No, you're not my girlfriend. " We both break comfortable laughter.
"Can I have that on my tombstone, not your girlfriend?"
Scenarios are playing out in my mind, after he asks me, whether I want to be in another long term relationship. I'm not sure. I love my space. But I miss the Sunday domesticity, like he and I had this morning waking up to someone in my bed who is more than a physical need or some deep attraction. The lover is like that and he asks a lot of questions about Jeremy. Then he asks if I mind him asking. I don't, he doesn't hurt like a hang nail of disappointment and inevitability any longer. There's a bag of clothes I must return to him...I need my space like the incoming tide needs the bed of sand as she caresses and careens up the dunes.
We navigate our way down to the sandy cove in west Wales and talk about lost loves. We lay our towels on the stones and lie like starfish and the man, turns red and tans then burns. He goes into the sea, comes back gleaming like a dolphin, greying hair slicked back and eyes the colour of the sea.
There's a gentleness and a calmness I like when we're together. But I wonder if that's enough. His last girlfriend is insanely jealous and passionate. I can't do that anymore. Love isn't about possession or control, any longer. Love is about letting go and finding a safe space to just be. A different energy.
I hope you get well Jeremy. Here's to good endings, my love.
And to good beginnings with a man in whose eyes I can see glimmers of eternity, even when we're back home from the sea.