Nigel the Fish
Bob Edwards was my friend. For no reason other than he made the effort, a big effort, to be my friend. He was the one to call, he was the one to visit, he was the one to scoop me up in times of need.
He came to my house many times, the last time was my daughters wedding. A few times he came for Christmas. Kate Roddick and I entertained him, we were a house of three happy fifty somethings.
On Christmas Eve we braved the snow drive to the Church for the midnight mass. Half an hour late! We slid home over Lakeland fells to log fires and night caps.
Christmas Day was crisp and even. We fed my fish before we fed ourselves, ploughing through ice on my lake and scattering 15 bags to open mouths.
Lunch back at the Vicarage was in the slow oven. We played music, piled logs next to the fire, and dressed for the occasion.
I found Bob in the kitchen doing what all my guests do, wrapping a Stuart Crystal whisky glass in newspaper in preparation for the bin. His enjoyment of that day had effect on his grip of that glass. We might all say his enjoyment of many days had an effect on his grip of life itself.
The Lakes were a special place for Bob. I commissioned a sculpture of Alfred Wainwright as a birthday present. Bob spent his fitter days plodding as Wainwright did, as the Romantics did many years before.
I write this as I recline on the overnight bus to San Luis from Buenos Aires. Unable to be at Bobs big send off, but I hold the space in particular with Rachel, Kate and Caroline and Libby. Jake and Callum aspire to his best but learn from the rest.
Rachel you are the star. Brothers of Bob take care.
Abrazos y besos dulces por todos.
Nigel the fish. Xx
Bob Edwards 1945-2016 