In my mid-twenties I worked with a great gang of kid-adults.
A glorious time between study and proper grown-upping where we earned little but what we had was disposable, partied most nights and semi-worked during the day while we recovered, chatted and generally rang rings around our bosses.
A job that got done standing on our heads and one I remember as a bit of a party most of the time.
Then, just before I left for a ‘proper job’, something happened to sober the lot of us.
One of the lads, younger than me at having just turned 20, committed suicide.
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He was funny and interesting yet wildly disruptive.
I remember him being hysterical about absolutely nothing at times, in both the making us laugh and making us eye roll as he seemed to genuinely believe there to be a poltergeist under his desk.
For the older of us this seemed incredibly immature.
Looking back, I see he was deeply unwell, something which I didn’t detect.
Annoying as he could be at times, I liked him very much, and to this day I feel bad that I hadn’t realised this young man needed…
