Chainsaws, Campers, and Comrades
A dawn chorus of sweat, sawdust, and songs for lost friends
Up with the Birds—and the Branches
I’m knackered!
I was up at 4 a.m. this morning and by 4:30 I was hand-sawing large branches, several as tall as trees. I was racing to get value out of an industrial shredder I’d hired yesterday. We were out late at a pottery class the night before, but there were still trees to chop up.
I was chuffed that none of the massive branches obliterated the picket fence around the vegetable patch. Herself wouldn’t have been impressed. Me? I was thrilled. Sunlight now pours into the veggie garden. Even more branches were lopped off the old cherry tree to make room for our latest addition.
Farewell Titch, Hello Wild Camping
Yes, herself caused me some dismay a few months back. She quietly disclosed she’d fallen out of love with Titch—our gorgeous little caravan. She wasn’t sure if she’d ever loved it. Titch ditched today, hubby ditched tomorrow?
No, she says. She might keep me. For now.
The new addition? A new-to-us campervan. It's cleared out the savings, but heck, you only live once. And you never see a hearse around here with a trailer.
Losing a Friend, Remembering a Miracle
On a very different, and much sadder note—my songwriting friend Robin Lawley unexpectedly breathed his last a week ago.
He’d survived the rupture of his aorta, and we truly thought he had pulled through. He was in a coma for weeks. He had double pneumonia. His organs were damaged. But then—miraculously—he began to come back.
He sent me a video message. Then voice messages on WhatsApp. And eventually, we were talking on the phone again.
There was talk of physio, of step-down care. Then disappointment: he needed another operation. I took my eye off the ball, assumed the arc of recovery would continue.
Then came the message: Robin was gone.
We’ll be holding a Zoom celebration of his life at 9 a.m. Irish time (10 a.m. Italy) on Saturday 12 July. If you'd like to be part of it, drop me a private message. Please use the subject line: ‘Robin’s Farewell’ so that I don’t miss it.
Robin and I wrote a song together about peace between Arabs and Israelis. I still hope it will one day be performed by an Arab-Israeli choir—a lasting tribute to his life in music.
Growing Older, Growing Happier
I’m glad I’m 63 and no longer in my twenties—or a teenager! All this nonsense about the joy of youth and the woes of aging? Quite the contrary.
I’ve never been happier.
To live forevermore is a fate worse than death. Give me now, and give me Guinness. (Which I’ve just had, thank you very much—well earned after the last three days of heavy graft.)
And by the way, that industrial shredder? Astonishing. It took branches broader and longer than some trees and shredded them like paper.
That’s it folks!
Happy days,
Joe
Joe Armstrong’s acclaimed first memoir In My Gut, I Don’t Believe is available on Amazon in Kindle, Paperback, Hardback and Audible editions. His second memoir Saved by a Woman is available on Amazon in Kindle, Paperback, and Hardback editions.
Brilliant piece as always Joe. My sincere condolences on the passing of your friend and musical collaborator Robin. But I will raise a glass to you and Ruth and the many adventures you have ahead of you in your motorised Titch Mark2.