To be honest, it's taken me a couple weeks to process the sad loss of our old friend Paul Hendrich...I hadn't actually seen Paul in the flesh for two years or so, but he'd leave the occasional comment on this blog.
Paul was a live-wire, a ball of frizzed-up hair, who literally crackled with energy. He was generous and funny as fuck; so full of zest and enthusiasm, like an oversized puppy. Back in the early 90s Paul used to work in Ceres Bakery, Yeovil, on saturdays while the rest of us pissheads used to sit supping ale in The Butchers all afternoon...around four-ish he'd turn up for a pint of guiness with a bag full of unsold veggie pasties, pies and pizzas wh/ he'd hand out to us drunks and that would keep us going well into the evening...one of the other regulars back then was Steve Dowsett, who we also lost last year.
A few years later I found out that at one point when I was single he'd tried to set me up with his mum lol! I didn't know he'd hosted that conference at Goldsmiths to commemorate the Battle of Lewisham...still getting into mischief, see?
I'm not going to moan on about how unfair it is losing friends who were still so young and had so much to give - Paul didn't do self-pity - especially when, to roughly paraphrase his mother, he lived as much as any three other people.
Ah, but fuck: it is unfair.
This says it all far better than I could.
There's a memorial for Paul at Goldsmiths in London this coming saturday morning. I won't be able to make it, unfortunately, but I'll certainly be thinking of him.