I remembered how he had gone everywhere by taxi -
He'd dig into the pockets of his flying jacket for the fare, crumpling a big note into the driver's hand -
Always give a tip he'd say - buses? - I never go on buses ! -
Geoff had a moustache like Fu Manchu's - when I first met him, he worked in the wine trade - he'd uncork a bottle of Pouilly Fume with slender dexterous fingers, pouring out the lavish bumpers -
Later he became a teacher - he was gifted with craziness and erratic charm -
He'd hitch hiked to Dharmsala - he'd survived dysentery and heartbreak -
As we were driven from Stratford to Forest Gate, I wondered what had happened to Geoff -
I remember how he'd refused to have have his fortune told in Malham -
Richard had seen him walk away into the darkness - cigarettes had glowed like small red stars -
Then he was gone - only memories of him were left, his hooting laughter, his charm -
Sunday 20 February 2016
Stratford
London
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