My precious dog and one of my dearest friends died in the same week. Not, I realise, the jolly, breezy topic you might expect to cheer you up on this sub-zero Monday, but as always there’s light where there’s darkness. Over the last few days, I’ve realised just how much death and love and grief and joy are intermingled. But it’s still been extremely hard.
Rocco, my gorgeous dog, is gone. He was taken from me totally unexpectedly — healthy one day, gone the next — and I was then, and remain, bereft.
It actually seems strange to remember that, seven years ago, I was pretty opposed to getting him. But eventually I was talked round, and my ex-husband and I brought Rocco into our lives.
I’d say it took about four weeks for me to fall head-over-heels for him.
Our souls chimed and — in that way that can happen between dogs and their dog-parents — we began to shape one another. You see, he was perfect for me. Half Lady Bracknell, half hot water bottle, all diva. He’d only drink water out of porcelain bowls and only piddle on the most expensive rug; he disliked nearly everyone (except fabulous women); he’d sit outside our local French bakery and literally have to be dragged along the street till you surrendered and got him a croissant.
But he would explode with limitless joy when I came in the door. His unconditional devotion and inexpressible level of love could lift even the heaviest of moods. During lockdown, just having someone else to care for was enough to get me through, seeing him made the difference between utter bleakness and a day of sunshine.
The first person I wanted to speak to when I lost him was my spectacular friend Lesley. She was my first WhatsApp message. Rocco adored clever and stunning women, and she was his absolute icon.
But Lesley Land, one of my finest friends, had died suddenly at the age of 41. She was the type of spectacular person that you didn’t believe existed anymore. In fact, I’d always meant to write a column about her (she actually needs a whole shelf of elegant, witty, Mitford-y books to do her justice). She had the put-downs of Dorothy Parker and the discerningly cool, indifferent style of Anna Wintour. Going back through our WhatsApps to each other, I was cry-laughing the whole time. Every one of her lines glittered. I once wrote to her, “I wish you the gift of seeing yourself the way I (and the rest of the world) sees you”. She was, in every conceivable sense, magnificent.
When someone important to us leaves this world, it’s the delight, the happiness, the kindness that remains and it can never be extinguished. They leave a perpetual handprint of delight on those of us lucky enough to have known them. So I’m thinking of Lesley and Rocco and they are not gone (I’d imagine he’s sitting on her lap, she’s making some impossibly brilliant joke and he’s looking up adoringly). I loved them both very much.
Rein in debt collectors
The excellent Martin Lewis is urging the Government to stop debt collectors hounding people about the sums they owe. It’s a very necessary policy. Now more than ever.
Martin wants limits on how — and how often — debt collectors can contact people. It’s so important because, up and down the UK, people in financial crisis are being driven to despair — the constant barrage of demands are genuinely making their lives unliveable.
People are terrorised to the point that many are left suicidal. Martin wants protections put in place. The Government needs to listen. A starting point for those who are in trouble is to head to the Shelter or CAB websites and they’ll direct you towards help. It’s important to remember there are always people who will try and assist you out of debt, but their voices can get drowned out when all you can hear are demands for payment.
