On Friday night I went to the pub for a quick drink. There were lots of the oldie regulars at the bar and they looked gloomier than usual. One of them said that N. had been killed on his bike that morning. I didn't know who N. was. Then a wee toddler came into the pub, a lovely blonde girl who I recognised. “Her father,” said the regular. And I immediately knew who N. was, and it was a shock. He was a consistently pleasant and friendly chap who was often in the pub with his wife/girlfriend and their baby who became the cute toddler now wandering around unaware her father was dead. He smiled a lot.
He was 34. There was a lorry carrying a skip coming the other way down a narrow road. I don't know what happened exactly because I didn't enquire, but N. was killed apparently instantly, according to the paramedic friend of a close friend of his.
B., who lives at the bar and is not known for his poetic turn of phrase, said “There was just nothing bad about him. It's like a glow has gone out of the world.” He told me that N's girlfriend had been told she couldn't have kids, then they'd had the baby and it was miraculous. They always looked happy. There are things to be said about oafish idiotic lorries in a hurry to get to the skip but I won't bother. Rest in peace, nice man who died far far too early.