I told him of my plans to move to a lifestyle block. He told me to stop pussyfooting around and get on with it. "Life's too short," he said, smirking at the irony of his own joke.
I told him not to nag me or I'd hide his pain relief. He told me if I did that he'd come back and haunt me.
We had that sort of straight-up mateship.
Eventually, it was time for me to go. Better writers than me could use 10,000 words and still not adequately describe how painful that farewell was.
As I drove away it would be fair to say I had a lump in my throat. A golf ball size one.
In such cases I turn to she who always makes me feel better: Mrs P.
Naturally, she came through.
"Get yourself a nice coffee for the drive home," she said. And then, just to inject some everydayness into things, "Could you also stop in at that little organics place and get me some carrots and a melon?"
And so I did.
Masked up and desperately in need of something to lift me out of my sadness, I walked into a tiny shop, no more than say four metres wide and 10 metres long, where a young lady was serving a bloke who appeared to be about the same age. It's a bit difficult to tell when all you can see of their face is their eyes.
What was plainly obvious, however, was the fact that I had walked in on a bit of flirting going on.
I'm sure you will know exactly what I mean when I say the conversation stopped dead in its tracks the second I walked through the door.
On the counter was a selection of fruit and vegetables the young fellow was in the process of buying and the young lady was ringing up on the till. And she was giggling.
I'm surmising here but I reckon he'd said something, shall we say a bit saucy, perhaps concerning the size of the cucumber or something like that, if you know what I mean.
I grabbed my carrots and melon and stood behind the young man, waiting my turn, when he suddenly remembered he needed something else.
"You go ahead," he said helpfully, as he went back to the shelves, no doubt hoping I would be gone in less than a minute and he could continue his quest. "But don't touch my plums!"
Now to help illustrate what happened next perhaps I can ask you to consider a joke you've just been told but you've missed the opening bit. You know it's probably funny but you are not "in" on exactly why.
Sound familiar?
Well, that's what happened to me. No sooner had he made the comment about his 'plums' than she practically doubled up with laughter at the counter while he did the same at the shelves.
The commotion was such that the manager came out to see what was going on.
Appearing somewhat unimpressed, she motioned the still giggling girl away and immediately took command, pushing most of the fruit and vegetables on the counter to one side while she sorted my purchase.
Three metres away stood the girl and guy trying like crazy to get it together. I actually wished I had been in on the joke. They seemed to be having a lot of fun.
Anyway. My order bought and paid for, I thanked the older lady and headed for the door. I was halfway out into the street when she called out: "You've left your plums on the counter."
Behind her the young couple lost it - again – as the manager looked on completely bewildered as they doubled up in hysterics.
I never did find out what the joke was or whether the young lady got a telling off or whether she and the young man exchanged phone numbers and are now embarking on a life of adventure and fun together. I hope so. They seemed like good kids.
All I know is on a day that started with such sadness, laughter really did prove to be the best medicine for me.
I think Brent would have liked it too.
