To be honest, the news of Lee’s death has hit me hard. I’m trying not to show it: the next few weeks are going to be busy  for me and Lyn, with weddings and trips to  Poland to organise. Yet  on top of that, I have to go to Warrington in a few days to say goodbye to one  of my best friends.  Lee was a kindhearted, optimistic fellow  who I grew up with  from the age of six. I knew what would happen to him after I learned what Muscular Dystrophy did  to people; yet I was dreading it. I was sort of thinking about  going up  to  visit him and Phil at the neuromuscular centre before it was too late, just to catch up: I’d have told them about University, about Lyn, about life in London…

But now it is too late. Last week I received the news which I knew was inevitable, but was nonetheless hoping would never come. And the thought of my friend no longer being here, that we’ll now never have that long overdue catch-up, or that his cheeky rebelliousness and  dry sense  of humour no longer  exists, is utterly heart wrenching.