John squinted in the morning sun as he hailed me across the swarming school tarmac
“Are you friends with Jim on Facebook?” 
“Yeah…” I press my lips together and then, with subconscious tut of my tongue reply “I know”.
There was a band when I was in the first few years of uni. It was made up of musicians which at the
time I thought of as heroes. A seven piece funk band made of some of the most talented people I’d
ever met (still are). Over the last fifteen years four of them have had cancer, Jim being the latest. Jim
being the worst case.
I heard the news about Jim twice over, once from his best mate who’d been looking after my kids,
whose own cancer is currently in remission but due a comeback (one of the afore mentioned band).
The second time from a powerful matter of fact social media post from Jim himself. He carefully
detailed how to approach him and what his approach to the next 2-3 years was going to be.
I feel blank. Curiously devoid of an emotional reaction. I know the facts of the situation, I know Jim
very well. We’ve played together, and visited each other’s families. My first drive in an electric car
was in his.
There’s a song on repeat, I turned the main speaker volume down but it’s still tinnily coming from
my headphones on my desk as I type. It’s repeated around 5-10 times now. I like listening to music
on repeat. The song is 7 by Prince. I was searching for a song in A to help with my son Stefan’s
morning fiddle practice we do together. We call it ‘smile time’ cause there’s a lot of giggling. 

The lyrics to the song are –
All seven and we’ll watch them fall
They stand in the way of love and we will smoke them all
With an intellect and a savior-faire
No one in the whole universe will ever compare
I am yours now and you are mine
And together we’ll love through
All space and time, so don’t cry
One day all 7 will die

There’s a knot in my throat, my chest feels tight, my stomach feels like its effervescing.
I used to dream of my parents dying or going away, dreams of nightmare rickshaw rides through
melting hellish corridors of a house I used to live in. A mid terrace two up two down house with a
small garden that backed on to a coal yard and my middle school.
My parents had a pretty brutal break up ending in my father not having custody of me or my sister. I
never saw him again. I learned he was dying from a phone call made to me from his death bed by his
sister. I was sitting in the white bedroom of the house my wife and I bought together. I didn’t know
what to do. I wrote him a letter. I felt blank. 
Until I met Amy, my wife, I held a lot of guilt for causing that break up. I’d always felt I was very close
to my dad, closer than my sister was. He still has some of the standout moments in my very early
life. One was building a go-cart from an old pram. We used the slightly rusted spoked wheels from
an old pram. They came off the axle of the pram by pressing two small rectangular bits of metal into

the hub, then the wheel slid off. We screwed these to two bits of 2×4 and joined that to another
longer piece of 2×4, making a H. Then he showed me how to use a hammer, I was doing it wrong.
With warmth he told me his dad would have been mad if he saw how I was using it. My hand was
too close to the hammer bit. I was to use the full length, it was much harder this way, but I could see
he was right. I remember this whenever I pick up a hammer. 
We built half a box to sit in which was nailed to the H. The side walls sloped up from the floor of the
buggy to the back bit which you could lean on. I think then there was possibly a plastic seat installed,
but it was definitely painted white. We painted it with emulsion rather than gloss and had no
varnish, so it did run when we took it out for the first time. I named it ‘White Lightning’, which I
wrote on the side in black felt-tip over the white emulsion. Next to the letters I drew a boxy picture
of a lightning bolt. I was so incredibly excited and proud of us. There was also the tree house and the
dinosaur mural on my bedroom wall, sugary tea and transformers VHS tapes which came from the
video shop in Coleshill. And the Sega mega drive with Sonic the Hedgehog, and going swimming
followed by chilli dogs and gingerbread men from the café over the road from the baths.
I was in White Lightning when a red Mini Cooper nearly crashed into me, my father, and my sister on
the crossroad outside our house. There was a loud boxy breathy slamming noise. The Mini then
seemingly slowly spun, screeching a 180 degree arch which ended with its nose buried in the stone-
faced embankment we were standing on top of. There was a huge soily hole there for weeks after. 
That could have been it. It is for some. Is that sad? Or is it what happens. None of us make it.
…one day all seven will die.
It seems morose to dwell on the death of my heroes in that band, but they will all die. I will die. My
family, friends, all of us. My kids. It’s our destination. There’s no rewinding the VHS tape, but it will
play. 
I guess I should turn my volume up and pay attention to what’s playing on the tape. 
To Jim, what a spectacular tape to have been watching all these years. How you can lift a tune, from
the grimy, old, wedge shaped, one roomed Station pub to massive stages of international festivals
with other folk heroes of mine. Your ability to bring people together through music and other
strange hobbies; it’s a rare gift…
With an intellect and a savior-faire
No one in the whole universe will ever compare
I am yours now and you are mine
And together we’ll love through
All space and time, so don’t cry
One day all 7 will die
…and so will I. Build a Go-cart Jim, and tell ’em how to use a hammer.