I rarely mention people by their full names in this here blog, but I’m going to today, because he isn’t here to defend himself.
Nigel Stevenson, my work colleague for the last six years, died last night. He was 35, and his car was hit by another. I don’t know yet how or why. He died instantly.
Nigel smoked, in fact that’s how we met, in the smoker’s hole of shame outside RNIB in Great Portland Street. We smoked together, discussed writing together, as he too had written a number of pretty good pieces. He wasn’t the kind of buddy who you’d stake your life on, but he was a genuinely nice bloke, with a good heart and the sort of the bloke you could chat to. He was a moody bugger, and as a fellow moody bugger, I had a lot of empathy for him. We went to see Al Murray with him one evening and had a great time. He had a quiet, wicked sense of humour.
My nan died earlier this year, and I didn’t’ feel as devastated as I do by Nige’s death. Partly this is because we are the same age. Partly because of the randomness of his death. Partly because, well people like that, neither old, cancerous, hard-living, a hanger-around with bad company – they just don’t die do they? Where’s the fair play?
I’m writing this in the office, and earlier today you could hear a pin drop, just the sound of air conditioners to break the silence. All in all, a pretty sombre day for us.
So, Mr Stevenson, wherever you are, I hope you are doing well, either entertaining God with your wit, or haranguing the Devil himself.
And to my compatriot and colleague, fair thee well old bean.
Mood: Sombre
Music: Silence for once
Book: Watching the English by Kate Fox
14 comments:
Hi Adam, I am (or was) one of Nige's housemates. I knew him for just over two years. Had to email some of his friends (and phone others which was really hard) to tell them what had happened. Such an awful thing to tell someone by email but we only had email addresses for them. :(
Anyway, earlier today I was checking my hotmail and one of his friends told me about this blog entry.
Guess she's been doing what many of us have - searching, partly in disbelief, for something about Nige. I did come across a news item on the BBC's website, but I guess Google hadn't indexed your blog at that point.
To anyone reading this who didn't know Nigel, he was, as Adam said, a genuinely nice guy, with the kind of blue eyes and (natural) blond hair usually seen on small children. Spruced up he was a striking, handsome man. Intelligent, kind-hearted, generous, funny, with a hearty laugh and his fair share of insecurities. At times infuriating as a flatmate - but then we can all be. Famed for his love of tea (and pizza and cream cakes) and his fondness for leaving a collection of mugs around the house.
What we'd give to see them again.
The house is very quiet without him. His food still sits in the freezer, his golfclubs are in the hall where he left them, cigarette papers sit on the kitchen shelf, his jackets hang in the hall. There's just this space where he used to be. Can still hear his voice in my head. Lots of memories (and I only knew him for two years). So much harder for other friends and his family. It's been a week and a half now and still it seems so unreal - as if he'll walk in at any point. I think that maybe the funeral will be the point that it really starts to sink in.
Nige - we love you and miss you. Wherever you are, hope there's lots of teabags (and milk!)
Tina (the black coffee drinker) x
Hello Tina and Adam
It is very differently that I knew Nigel. I had not seen him for maybe 15 years but we had been such good mates growing up. I had known him since I was about 5. We went to Sunday school, choir and then Youth club together. Last time I saw him was when I visited him at Uni ... we had a good time but he was pretty cross that I turned up with a boyfriend. He used to say that I only contacted him when i wasn't going out with some one. Over the years I had always meant to get in touch, just never did it. When I got the call from a very dear friend, it was not really real but as time has gone on and I was unable to attend the funeral I find myself looking at old photos and reading (very funny) old letters. Nigel always wrote to me, the last one being from uni. He said in the letter that we would go out when he got back but I would have to drive because he was too lazy learn!!!Ironic. You both refer to him smoking .. he never smoked when we were young. He warned us all of the dangers while we puffed away. I wonder when he started?
I buried my Grandfather yesterday (88 and unwell) my tears were for Nig and the phone call I never made. So sorry Nig.
I missed the funeral and haven’t seen Nige since we shared a house in Nottingham....unfortunately that was now a long long time ago. I still have great memories of Nigel especially the trip we did together around the south of France in my van. Right at the beginning of the trip he stole a melon from a field while I revved up the van in getaway mode. Sadly, with all the excitement we succeeded in swiping the most unripe melon of the lot. So the aforementioned melon became our travel companion for a month staring in all our tourist photos along the way whilst ripening itself on the dashboard. The pic enclosed is Nige with the melon on the ferry on the way home before the honorary eating.....it was still unripe! Nige was a good bloke and the only guy I know that would accidentally die his clothes pink and still continue to wear them. I wish I had kept in contact, there are many memories...we did a good line in house graffiti and caricatures as well as I remember. It was a good time. Thanks Nige.
pic of Nige
CLICK HERE FOR PIC
Hi there,
Well, i'm one of nige's sisters. And its so nice to hear such amazing stories about nige. he'd be so embarrassed to hear so many nice things being said about him.
As i was 13 or so years younger than nige my memories of him vary from me teasing him by singing.. "there was an old man called nigel stevenson..." or when he used to pick me up by my feet to when he used to hug me so hard i thought my eyes would pop out...
I can remember accidently stinging him with a wasp in the garden. the best plum was that little bit too far out of reach and of course you ask the lanky older brother to pick it for you. bad idea. The Largest Wasp (he) i had ever seen stung him and he leapt and jolted around running into mum swearing and cursing. He never blamed me even though i kept apologising.
Anyway, i feel so cheated by his death as many of us do but i also feel priviledged to have known such an honourable, witty, clever and loving man.
i'm so proud to be able to call him my brother.
Krista Stevenson
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