Across the pond

Woke up ravenous this morning. So put four rashers of bacon, two huge tomatoes and two eggs into the frying pan, which I was enjoying when Radio Four’s 9 o-clock news came on. Almost the whole bulletin was devoted to the sudden death of Michael Jackson, aged fifty. Suddenly yesterday’s stories about BBC top brass expenses and the parade of Tory MPs, ordered by David Cameron to pay back thousands of their expenses, are no longer news. Compared with the shock waves arising from the death of a youngish man still full of zest.

I was not a fan of Michael Jackson but I am feeling some of the emotions his fans  must be feeling. Because yesterday I learnt of the sudden death of a young Frenchman, Fred Arnoult, from Toulouse.  Fred was only just over forty. He was one of those rare human beings who responded to my sense of humour. He lived in my house for a year, while he was an assistant at William Ellis school and became a life-long friend of all my family.

I still cannot believe I shall never hear his laugh again.