I got back from Donno’s funeral quite late and tired last night. It had been a long, hard day. We got to Warrington on Monday afternoon, settled in and had a little look around before going to bed. I honestly think yesterday was one of the hardest days of my life: John and I got to the crematorium slightly late, but walked in to find a chapel full of people, among them Liam and Phil – two of my old classmates; boys, like Lee, I grew up with. For a moment it seemed like the last eight years of life in the capital had just been a happy holiday, and I had returned to a darker, bleaker reality.
Yesterday saw me attend the funeral of someone with one of the most vibrant personalities I’ll ever meet. I spoke briefly to Lee’s mum and dad at the wake after, and my heart almost broke – no parent deserves to go through what they did. Lee was the first person to show me that life was there to be seized. He loved American wrestling and rock music. Truth be told, what happened yesterday has left me feeling bitter, short-tempered and angry: Donno deserved a long, happy life, and the fact that someone so vibrant has been ripped away from all of us seems the very definition of injustice.