July 2006: This page is ”In Memoriam” but that isn´t why it´s black; it´s black because Rory Hallahan generally didn´t acknowledge the existence of any other colours. I worked with him from late ´99 to Summer ´03 but I won´t go on about him. Have a look at these pictures; they´ll pretty much tell you all you need to know.
His wife Kath set up Black and Chrome in his memory and it´s sent me to Cuba and various other therapies. Hopefully, at some point in the future, I won´t need it, but for now…



Today's Friday; Rory's funeral was on Monday. I've hardly been to any funerals so I don't have any sort of reference but I think it was a good one. I remember being at a wedding once with a hired DJ and thinking "This ain't them," but this wasn't like that; the speeches, the music and the convoy of motorbikes from the church to the crematorium were just right.

Our sadness when people die is largely selfish. We miss them, the way they'd react to situations, things we find, articles, pictures...I worked with Rory for nearly four years; the thing I regret the most is that I missed the last two years of his life, only seeing him a few times in that period. Thea and I went up to see him in hospital in Cambridge. Not the last memory you'd choose of a friend, lying in a ward, barely able to speak, but his family was there, taking it in turns to hold everything together.

These are the people who get that part of our sadness that isn't just for ourselves; his wife, son, daughter and mother and those who knew him for much longer than just a few years, friends like Liz and Jason.

I don't know exactly when it was, but just before he died, Rory announced "Last orders. Mine's a Guinness," Liam went and fetched one from downstairs and everyone toasted. Style.

The last thing I saw when we left the farm where the wake was held was Rory's Harley, which had been ridden there by Jason, leaning on its stand, shining against a dark wall.

To quote Boris, quoting Rory himself: I knew that man.