Sam

In two months, my friend Sam leaves for New Zealand. That's his home you see, he's really very fond of it. He hasn't been home for almost five years. He misses his Charlie dog.

I'm devastated that he's leaving at the end of the year. Today I found out that he leaves the day after my 28th birthday.

Sam just stumbled into my life one day. At a pub quiz, if I remember rightly. We drank too much beer, got all the questions wrong and danced badly late into the night. Then he moved in with Cate, I jazzed up his CV (a LOT) and helped him get a job in my office.

I've never met anyone who doesn't like Sam. Seriously. There is no nicer guy. He's quite cute too, but don't tell him I told you that. We have adventures. I help him sneak into gigs that are sold out, we dance about and he cooks me tasty veggie food. In don't know anyone who can hula hoops like him, possibly his most surprising skill. Him singing "Milkshake" over dinner never fails to make me laugh. There's been boat parties where I couldn't get the helium balloons to work, secret garden parties, circus parties with him dressed as a Playboy bunny. The "dog! space! gravy!" train journey was pretty awesome too. So is laughing at the way Kiwis say egg. After four years we still haven't got bored of that. Just friend stuff. He hasn't given me a kidney or anything.


But honestly, he's one of the most important people in my life. I can't imagine London without him. Not my London. Because he makes me not be a crap person. He's the most supportive friend you can hope for. I was terrified about handing in my notice and going freelance. I still have the emails that Sam sent me that day, listing all of the things that were awesome to distract me from doing the Scary Thing. Seahorses and ice cream vans were on that list. Every massive thing that has happened to me, the good and bad, Sam has been there being awesome.


It's not just Sam leaving. At the moment, my most favourite people live in the same house. Once Sam and Marian leave for the other side of the world, everyone in that house is moving. I think everyone who knows that house, and the people in it feels sad that the house won't be there. The house that we run away to when everything is horrible, the house that has the best parties, the house that is always full of silliness and laughing and Good Stuff. November 13th isn't going to be a happy day for anyone.


The winter Sam met Marian was so much fun. We were in Norway on a cheap weekend. Because on a whim walking to work one day I decided we should go away. I lied to Sam when we got there when he asked "does it get this cold in England?' No, of course it doesn't. Ahem. We were drinking beer in the hostel before the New Zealand rugby world cup match (way too expensive to drink out) and within minutes of meeting, Marian and I were talking about feminism stuff and women's rights (that hasn't changed). Turns out Marian worked around the corner from us and we stayed friends. Took her and Sam bloody ages to get together though. He was being utterly useless. But I'm so pleased we went to Norway, I'm so pleased they met, I'm so pleased she came back to London and I'm over the moon that they're both so happy. I'm really pleased that they found each other, despite being from opposite ends of the world.

But, completely selfishly, I don't want my best friend to leave. I can't imagine my London without him. I don't know if I'll have the balls to do all the scary things without him around. London will have a horrid Sam-shaped hole (although I think the replica lightsaber I bought him might need a new home, and that's a plus I've only just considered). I'll also have excellent visiting fun, which I'm excited about.

I'm sad today. I'm writing this whilst Sam is in New York so I don't bum him out (I'm meant to be being supportive). Tomorrow I'll be fine, back to my usual smiley self. But today, I'm getting my head around the fact that my best friend won't be in London once I turn 28.