The Rest of It
I wrote about him here never knowing that the saddest part of his story was yet to come.
Another friend emailed from my home city of Cork. It seems for the last few years of his life JG was homeless. One of those sad and embarrassing unfortunates who beg on corners and subsist on the leavings of others. He had two adult children who had washed their hands of him years before.
He got so ill on the streets that a hospice took him in and cared for him till he died.
It was through the kind services of the hospice that he was buried.
I remember his charm, his exquisite sense of style, his ebony black eyes and hair, his smile, his joie de vivre on the dance-floor, his silly pink Consul car with its one royal blue door and the warmth of his arms.
We just never know, do we.