Send My Conscience Home in a Taxi

Very regular readers (there may be some of you) will remember that a couple of years ago a friend of mine - Daniel McKay - was killed in a car crash. Near his home town of Wallan, which is north-west of Melbourne on the way to Ballarat. This is the entry I wrote about it at the time, and another entry about some of his stencils.

It was, in fact, just over two years ago now. June 23rd of 2006. I remember my (then) girlfriend telling me on the the phone that she'd got a "bad" email. I asked what she meant by a "bad" email? Turned out Daniels dad had sent out an email from his email address saying "Daniel was in an accident last night and you won't be hearing from him again..."

Three of us made our way up to his funeral, which looked like it was attended by most of the town.

Then last year, around this time, I went on a pilgrimage up to Wallan. It seemed like the thing to do. I was pleased to see that several other people had been past as well, and left tokens by his grave. He's buried in one corner of the rather picturesque Wallan cometary. Which was also, I noticed, rather too full of young people.

I remember last year telling someone about my trip up there, and saying how Daniel was "Still there".

So, last weekend, it being just over two years, I drove north again, visited him again. It's sad to think that I will never see him again.

I'm not sure why Daniel's death in particular affected me. He's by no means the only friend I've lost. Actually, that's not entirely true, I'm lucky enough to have not really lost anyone like that - there was Hendric Bos, someone I knew in highshool, not well, who died in a hang glider accident the year after school finished. And my cousin Steven, who jumped of a building in the 80's. Actually, I could go on, but it's too miserable to do so. Suffice to say, that I've never been in this situation before. It's also that Daniel was such an interesting guy and... So young. He was only 21 when he died.

Anyway, I feel like he's berating me sometimes, from where he lies, to, I don't know, go stencil some walls or something.

( Pictures )

Remember that band called TISM? Who I followed around for many, many years earlier this century?

Well, it's my sad duty to report that one their guitarists, who delighted in the name Token Blackman (previously Tony Coitis!) died a day or so ago.

His real name was James Paull, also known as Jock. My mate who know him got a bit confused, since the other guitarist in TISM delights in the name Jock Cheese - who is alive and well!

There were a number of notices in today papers, including one from his fans...

I'm trying to think back if I ever met him, I suspect not, although I think he was in a group of people I got chatting to at a TISM gig at the Palace years ago.

A few Friday's ago (must be nearly three) evildoom_bunny and I had to go to Bairnsdale. Not for happy reasons - the father of one of my aunts (the grand father of my cousins) had succumbed to old age. We went up for the funeral.

Bairnsdale is a long, long way from Melbourne. evildoom_bunny and I both have cars of various vintages, but the thought of driving all the way there in my 18 year old un-air-conditioned Subaru didn't appeal! Not to mention the likely non-survival of said vehicle. So we decided to hop on the train.

So there we were at Flinders Street Station at 7.54AM, waiting for the V/Line train. Did I mention it's a heck of a way to Bairnsdale? We arrived, on time, via Dandenong, Tarralgon, Moe, Sale (not necessarily in that order) at 11.25AM!

The funeral was interesting - in parts. That side of my family are Norwegian (for obscure historical reasons I won't go into) so there was singing of hymns in Norwegian etc. In fact, the grandfather in question delighted in the first name "Thor", which is actually pronounced "Toor" or "Toour" perhaps. This all took place in a church, which made the atheist in me a bit uncomfortable. But I was mostly there for my many cousins and their many kids.

I had a small part in the ceremony - carrying Thor's coffin from the hearse to the grave. Which is always an intense experience. The ground there was soooo dry, the soil that had been dug was almost sand, and blew around in the strong breeze. We took turns dropping soil onto the coffin after they'd lowered it into the ground. Although I was reluctant until Indi, my little relative who adores me, insisted.

And then, after barely five hours in Bairnsdale, we got back on the train back to Melbourne. evildoom_bunny and I were joined by my brother, my cousin and a first cousin once removed! So we took over a total of ten seats - four on one side of the aisle, and six on the other, and made ourselves comfortable.

All in all I spent seven hours of that day on trains. But hey, these things are important.