A funny guy

I sometimes had trouble understanding what he was saying as he would hold his hand over his mouth due to a tendency to spit when he talked. When not talking, he would rub his shaved head all over, as if thoroughly applying suncream or as if worried a full head of hair had sprung up since last he checked. It was possible; he was one of those guys who sprouted stubble moments after shaving and could grow a beard in two days if he concentrated.
He was always working out and wore those tight ‘skinny rib’ tee shirts that showed off his trim physique. I tried one of those on once but I clearly don’t have skinny enough ribs. He was the unhealthiest healthy guy I’ve ever met. I once tested him by pretending I had a cough and spluttering dramatically all evening, while he cast worried looks in my direction. Sure enough, the next day he had a full-blown cold, heading towards pneumonia, while I had made a miraculous recovery. Of course, once ill he could command all the female attention he wanted and that’s what he thrived on. Not saying he was sleazy or anything, just that he always depended on the sympathy of women. Being on stage was perfect for him – the girls almost literally threw themselves at him once he’d finished his set – occasionally before. Who knows what would have happened had he made it to the big time; he was heading that way. Reviews called him the George Clooney of comedy. He thought that was great and it almost immediately became part of his act, as well as appearing on the posters for his Edinburgh gigs.
He was genuinely funny, relentlessly so at times. No one else got a look-in. Usually we loved it but sometimes we had to rein him in to give others a chance to speak. He would put on his hurt little boy face but within minutes he’d be joyfully relating the time he accidentally shoplifted from Woolworths and was chased by a septuagenarian security guard. It was a good story, that. The first four or five times you heard it.
The laughs were like a drug – the more he got the better he felt – you could see him glowing with the buzz of it all whether it was at the pub or on stage. Take the laughs away from him and he shrank. When I first introduced Helen to him, secretly terrified she’d like him more than me, she responded to the punchline of his first anecdote with a polite but puzzled “And?” The look of total incomprehension and almost fear on his face has stayed with me. I remember he made his excuses – he felt like he was getting a cold – and left early.
I saw him less after that. It had been over a year when I heard he was in the hospital with pneumonia. I went to visit and found him entertaining the nurses who all thought he was hilarious, of course. He had them in stitches. They were really upset when he died. I was too.