Lost

Last night, I was in Sunderland, for the launch of Bryan Talbot's epic "Alice in Sunderland" (buy it now - it's got me in!); this morning I hightailed it back to Newcastle, for the Northern Rock Foundation Writer's Award ceremony/lunch. Where a good time was had by all, and m'friend Sean O'Brien got the award (at last! After all these years of 'good grief, that's another year they've managed not to give it to Sean'). Which I knew about in advance, tho' not due to any leakage from Sean, but managed not to tell anyone at all. Even when drunk. Which I thought impressive.

Less impressive, halfway through lunch I realised I'd lost an earring. Which might not sound such a dramatic thing, but this is history: thirty years ago, a friend and I had our ears pierced together. He got sleepers, I got studs. The guy who did it made us swear not to fiddle with them, not to change 'em for a full month. Then we came out of the shop and right there in the street, in his full view, we took out one each and swapped 'em over. One of those teenage Big Romantic Gestures, we loved it and ourselves and each other.

And then Andy died, and he went to his grave with one of my earrings in; and I've been wearing mine'n'his for thirty years, and I've just lost one. Luckily it was mine rather than his, but it's still kinda soul-shaking.

So: I want advice, O my LJ. Do I let the hole heal over, in tribute to absent friends? Or do I buy a new earring? And if so, what, where, how...?

Kentishness

The inspired papersky has been handing out Kentish village names to those of her friends who ask nicely. This gives me double glee, because as it happens I already have one; Brenchley is a village in the High Weald.

Today, though, I am also Painter's Forstal. Which is a title to conjure with, tho' probably less practical as a surname.