We just come in from a funeral. A friend’s husband died suddenly whilst enjoying a walking holiday with a group of people from their village, just two months after his 65th birthday.
We knew Martin well. We’ve spent time in his company and over the years learned a little about him from the conversations we had here and there. We knew he was a gifted linguist, that he loved his vintage sports cars and had gone to the same school as Admiral Lord Nelson. But sitting listening to his cousin speak so eloquently in a packed country church this afternoon, we realised we didn’t know the half of it.
I know, we all have hidden depths and secret lives, but as we walked from the church I could only think about the conversation I would have loved to have had with Martin, had I but realised. Sad to think that I won’t get the chance.
I'm trying to recall the exact figure quoted by Martin's cousin for the total number of miles he ran. I can get as far as nintey six thousand four hundred...and? Well, if we rounded it up to 96 500 it would be pretty staggering, wouldn't it? Regardless of whether it was miles or km, I think that's a tidy sum.
