There was another John Beresford.
Actually, there are many more than two, but in my small universe, for a long time, there was only one. Me. When I moved up to "big school" rumours started to reach me of another one. He attended the other main high school in my home town and was approximately the same age. Over the years, a number of my friends met him, befriended him even, and in due course I met him too. He was, naturally, always referred to as "the other" John Beresford. Apparently, he used to insist that I was "the other" John Beresford, but that just goes to prove how misguided some people can be.
Or could be. The other John Beresford died last week.
Yesterday one of my mates called me to point out that his obit had been in the paper, and it was just possible my mother would hear of "my" death and be extremely shocked and/or worried. We agreed I'd better phone her right away to head off any such trauma.
Hello Mum.
Ooh! Hello.
I'm just phoning to let you know I'm still alive.
<long silence>
Only, you know how there was another John Beresford?
No.
Oh, well he's died. And it's been in the paper this week.
Well I don't get a paper.
No, but your friends do, and if one of them came in asking when I'd died, you'd be a bit upset.
Oh. Yes. I suppose I would.
Well it's not me.
No. Alright then.
Do you ever have those days where you wonder why you bother?
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2 comments:
You bother because it would be just the time that you didn't that your mother would call up in hysterics thinking that was you dead and nobody told her.
Had one today.
Had one yesterday and loads of other yesterdays.
The only thing worth bothering about is er....
What is worth bothering about?
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