Taooftash: May, Sydney

Sydney was not somewhere I would have chosen to be, both geographically or mentally at the moment, perhaps in six months time, but not presently. The hole inside of me has continued to grow and has been matched only by the deep sense of loss that I found in her family and friends in Sydney. In the second week following Tash's departure I started to grieve and this has left me disabled; my mojo has gone, as has, I now unfortunately have to accept, my muse too. This was made more profound by being in a country where I was only ever a follower, but now have to lead, even if it is only myself.

And of course Tash was every where I looked.

Her funeral was on the Tuesday, the first warm day since we had arrived. Both Marisa, Nate and I had been surprised by the chill in the air since we got off the plane and even more surprised by our total lack of appropriate warm clothing. "Nah Sydney is always warmer than London" umm apparently not this time.

I am not going to say a lot about the funeral, for a couple of reasons, the first is that my view is not religious and I am not Catholic, so such a ceremony would always lack the resonance that it gave Ken and the rest of the congregation, the second is that for me Tash, left at ten past two on that Sunday and I made my goodbyes then.

Before leaving London I had started to go through Tash's stuff and was surprised by her extensive silk scarf collection, some of which immediately spoke to me of the friends I was about to see, the blue green Lebanese design of a black scarf shouted Michelle and a beautiful yellow decorated Butterfly design could only be for Cinnamon. So I packed them as presents and as a way to bridge the gap between the Tash of London and the one that they used to know. In the days after the funeral I made my way around to spend time with as many people as I could manage taking the "Scarf caravan of love" with me. In these meetings I fully realised just how many of her Australian friends needed the funeral as closure, but also how much they wanted to understand what happened to us in the last four years, eighteen months, this year, and the final sixteen days in hospital. Many of you have worked out by now that we didn't always tell you the full extent of our journey, Tash would never let me write the full truth, she was adamant that you should not be unnecessarily worried. The story telling is as cathartic for me as it is insightful for them, so I am happy to continue for anyone that will listen.

Anyway I digress (as I will do now that my editor in chief has moved on)

The church was local and for a modern effort, was mercifully tasteful in it's decor. The Priest was one of the better of his kind, though he donned a pair of Rayburns as he completed the service at the graveside which I thought was a bit strange and I noticed that the automatic coffin lowers that they now use only lower the coffin just out of sight, if you are standing directly graveside it is a bit obvious that someone will be back later to press rewind button and do the job properly. Kate and then Nathan delivered eulogies at the service that perfectly invoked the spirit of the modern Tash and I met with a lot of faces that Tash had told me about, but until that day were just names. As with London, my breath was taken away by the sea of purple that made up the congregation, this was an idea from Michelle, Natasha's work colleague and it has been the best idea of all.

You can read Kate's eulogy here and Nathan's Tribute to Tash here

The one thing I do want you to know is that I attended the day dressed as Tash would have wanted me to be (smart and elegant, if you have never have never seen me out of civvies and in a suit) and in this way I was happy to be in her presence. She traveled there in this dress and carrying the 'BPT'.

Ben, our American professor friend had made it in from San Francisco to Sydney, he and I had spent the day before the funeral investigating the City, Darling Harbour and Rocks area on a single minded mission to buy suitable presents for Johanna, his wife and Felix, his son (a Platypus and the most ethically made bag the aboriginal shop could supply) which ended in several beers in a pub, as is the British way. Having him in the country tied up all of the loose ends and made it easier to have this part of Tash's life completed. I hope that you can appreciate my difficulty here, I would rather that she still be with us, my god it would make so many things easier, but simply could not, if it meant that she had to carry on in the way that she was.

The day of the funeral ended in a bar with all her friends mixing together, we toasted her with champagne several times and even included a salute on behalf of our Verona friends, who I am due to see next.

Port Douglas

(one of the major downsides of my situation is that I am still as observant as usual, but now I have no one to share my observations with, well apart from you that is...)

A flight from Sydney to Cairns was booked for the Sunday, Tash and I spent a wonderful week in Port Douglas (1 hours drive upwards from Cairns, in far northern Queensland) almost 10 years ago. In a period when it has become hard to think of a time when we were together and cancer did not feature somewhere in my thoughts (I don't presume to answer for Tash on this one, though I suspect not, as the behind the scenes work was my area and she was always the glitzy front of house - as if you hadn't noticed!), Port Douglas represents memories from a happier, simpler time, so off I went to reclaim some part of her for me.

Bugger!

Ten years is a long time and the sleepy relaxing nirvana that we saw in the last millennium has become a bit of a tourist trap. I was a little upset, considering my reasons for coming when I first got into "The Port" as the car rental guide helpfully informed me, along with other choice sound bites such as claiming it to be "the friendliest welcome in the north" and "Queensland's number one destination experience". After a beer and twenty minutes orientation; too many boutique bars and high end restaurants serving Baramundi fillets with a apricot/mango/any other fruit jus and none of the honest fisherman food that captivated Tash and I so many years ago, I found the same shopping centre and unbelievably, the same Japanese inspired photo sticker machine in which we had whiled away a couple of evenings by (some things will never change, you do have to make your own entertainment up here); my originals have faded, they used to be prominent in my wallet, but Tash always the hoarder had the complete set stashed.

This was nice to re-discover, some part of our time here remains and I felt better about navigating the busy main high street again, think Thailand but without the smell. Pretty much drove around the whole area on the Monday, for those in the know, yes I was trying very hard to keep myself occupied, culminating with a walking detour, camera in hand, following signs to "some such" waterfall. I thought the first creak I came to was a bit unassuming to be the waterfall in question (the actual name escapes me for reasons that will be come apparent quickly), but continued following the path up the other side of the creak and eventually exited out on a main road, not what was expected, to be presented with further signs to Kuranda and Davies Creek Falls falls.

Well she said, we should do the Skyway whilst we are here and there is a tropical forest exhibition centre there too. This being my first time in the country, I of course bowed to my girlfriend's greater knowledge. The Tropical rain forest was indeed that; we transversed many raised flora lined walkways leading, I worked out later, further away from the entrance, the car and any chance of escape and finally reaching the end of the guided tour, were greeted with the afore mentioned Skyway; See the tropical forest from the air. It didn't occur to me that no one was coming back down the skyway and as we flew majestically over the forest roof I realised how bored by the whole thing we were. Unfortunately we were now deep within the grips of FNQ's tourist infrastructure and could only get off at the end of the ride (there was no option to return I remember, but equally and regrettably, we might have just gone with the flow). The three hours Tash and I spent in Kuranda and the exciting (not!) train ride back down to the Skyway centre is time we shall never get back. Kuranda was a tourist trap of the highest calibre, had Tash and I known Karen and Allen at this time we might have forgone the constant cyclic walk around the four buildings and multiple tat vendors that make up the town and gone and got pissed in the pub. But these were easier days and we just got bored, got on the train, which I do remember had uncomfortable wooden seats and endured the ninety minute ride back down again.

So realising where I was all these years later, I am sure I spoke for Tash as I audibly exclaimed "oh fuck no" and darted back down the path to the creek, back to the car and then gunned the little hired Yaris out of town and back towards Cairns.

The rest of my time in Queensland was spent in the pursuit of trying to remember good memories of Tash in an attempt to build a bridge over the darker more depressive feelings I have been encountering recently. I often remind myself that laughing and crying are the same mechanical process and though I cannot exclusively do just one, the balance should be more Tash, more laughter and getting on with things than any wallowing in self pity.

It rained the whole time I was in Queensland and what with the cold weather in Sydney I had began to feel like Linus from the Charlie Brown cartoons, walking around with a thunderstorm always hovering over my head.

I seem to be spending my life saying goodbye to people and so eventually I gave my au revoirs to Australia and Nate, Marissa and I flew home, not the best flight for any of us, I was feeling particularly lonely as the lacto-ovarian meals that masquerade as the vegetarian option often vary greatly in their quality and now I don't have anyone sitting next to me anymore who will let me nick their cheese or chocolate cake, well not anyone who will let me and not immediately call the stewardess. On getting back to London the following happened; We took a taxi back from the airport and I left my passport in the cab, on getting up to the front door of the flat I discovered that one of the new letting agents had been in during the last two weeks, without informing me, and had deadlocked the front door so I could not get in. This is Sunday afternoon and I have just got off a 24 hour flight, so even though I was a bit apprehensive at going back to Gullivers Wharf, I now found myself getting upset for an entirely different reason. James and Sarah put me up for the night and the Taxi chap gave me a ring and we arrange dropping off he passport, but as I sat in the pub (ohh yes I needed a drink) I was heard to say quite loudly "Why does this shit only happen to me".

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