It’s March 31st again

This date looms in the calendar.

11:20(ish) a.m..

3 years ago today he left us when he should’ve been allowed to stay.

He was such a wonderful man, and I’m not just saying this because I’m biased. He was a much better man than me.

And 3 years on, it feels like it’s been barely a week — 6 months, a year at most! It’s certainly not been these 1,095 days, nor these 26,280 hours (when I say it that way, I struggle with even a minute).

And yet these numbers are set to increase. They’re just going to keep getting bigger and bigger and bigger and —

I don’t want to be this far away from him.

My cousin James,

I wouldn’t have minded so much
I probably wouldn’t have minded at all
Had you come over to ask
“Is this a good time to go?”
“No! Of course not, but if you have to —
“Suppose you don’t leave at all?
“Suppose,” I think crazy
“You stay and be lazy —
“I’ve got crisps we can eat from a bowl!
“We can talk until midnight
“Scoop humous by fridge light —
“But if that doesn’t tickle your mood
“Then we can do something else
“Like rearrange shelves
“Or whatever, there’s so much we can do!”
So that’s what I’d say
Had you asked me that day
Before you left, “is it alright if I go?”
I’d have asked you “so soon?”
And enquired “where to?”
And finished with “I love you, DON’T GO!”

But you went, so:

I should’ve showed I loved you
And I should’ve showed I cared
I should’ve done those little things
That showed you were my friend.
I should’ve been much kinder
Never should’ve made you cry
And I should’ve realised all of this
Before you upped and died.
But no I didn’t notice
And no I didn’t see
I only saw it once you’d left
And now I’m hating me.
So now I know I should’ve
And I know I could’ve tried
I should’ve done my best by you
While you were here alive.

I never saw him so I doubt I made him cry. I wrote those poems during the course of re-writing my book. This is the re-written re-written re-write re-write, I’ve decided that it’s all change once again. It’s meant to be an awfully tragic tale of a sister’s death under the wheels of Peugeot that leads a brother to murder. I wrote them with James in mind because we should’ve been a family. We haven’t got a big family and its differences weren’t really ours.

We both should’ve done something, but now since he’s dead, I should’ve done something but I didn’t. I’ve missed out. So who’ve I hurt? Me.

James, this is how I wake your sister:



or, wassipp


Totally ruined this – I’ll start again




Now I think about it, it’s Wazzup – isn’t it?

I’m not down with the lingo


(I didn’t fuck that up!)


So maybe it has been 3 years.

Maybe these hours gone by are right — 26,000 + shrapnel! I know I’m shit at maths but that does seem a little much.

And then reality returns, and I’m spending it waiting in for Yodel. I’ve spoken to 2 customer service people via webchat and the driver hasn’t updated his machine since 07:03. I’m meant to get a 2-hour delivery window. This is Virgin Media finally getting done with. But there’s music playing, cleaning to do, and since it’s a Saturday I’m gonna watch a bit of Columbo. There’s a flight to Newcastle to buy, and the strong chance of a takeout to be had. And of course, I’ve spent a few hours writing this post.

Maybe it will always be 2 things on this date.

March 31st, always the day reality hears the news

Except I know it’s coming ’cause the calendar kind’a gives it away, and it’s backwards. Reality now comes after the news. I’ll be surprised and startled by Yodels arrival when 3 years ago it would’ve been the other way around.

I doubt I’ll ever be a fan of this back-stabbing date.

Tomos James