Life and Soul

The Late Great James Eade

The year is marked again by June 1st, the day my brother, at 40 years old, died

There are still people who call or I meet in the street, their  diaries full of gigs to and from Spain, China or Australia, who had heard a rumor but whose faces still crumble at the truth of their  unrealised loss.

 It is still that close? I wonder when there is no-one to left to be shocked anymore. 5 years? 10?. I hope somewhere in the creative buzz of the Thai studio that  I will never see, that there is a plaque or picture that remembers his role in its creation and life. I start now to long for something more to do. His clothes have gone to friends and charity, his small treasures to his  nieces and nephews, his  MacBook has been copied into files, it’s system wiped to factory settings, Shells he picked up on an unknown Thai beach are now in the front of my fish tank, cleaned each night by shrimp and catfish. His backpack has been repacked, diaries and sound maps organized, bic working and the mini Tabasco bottle as he could no longer stand the bland English food is still in date.  The bag sits in the corner he used to throw when he turned up on his dodgy motorbike, demanding bacon butties or trifle. The mini-dv’s are next, I will file them between London, Equador and Thailand. Yet, what then? 

There will always be a June 1st but when will it stop being the day my brother, the Late, Great James Eade, died.