How the mighty fall.

I don't often see old classmates, or the friends I grew up with, but when I do I am always a little shocked at how they look, half of them are dead now, and those that aren't look as if they should be. I don't mean to be unkind but one or two of them really do look like they have been dragged through the mill. We all get old but some of them are taking it to extreme lengths.

Recently I took a walk through the park I used to play in as a kid, a kind of trip down memory lane, I sat on the bench that used to be a meeting place for our little gang and reflected on times gone by. As I enjoyed the warm sun and the sound of the brook as it wound its way through what once was a battlefield centuries ago. Gore Brook
I heard a moan, then another louder this time, then a barrage of swear words, followed by a low whimpering.

The noise was coming from what looked like a bundle of rags some way up the hill. I decided to investigate, I thought it might be someone in need of help, a mugging victim perhaps. It turned out to be Steve a chap I went to school with, he used to be a great sportsman and favorite of the girls with his wavy blonde hair and sky blue eyes, and was what I believe the Americans term as the most likely to succeed.
The guy was in a terrible state, his hair was long and matted, his face bore the marks of violence and a million drunken nights, he was disheveled and dirty, and he smelled to high heaven.

The ground around him was littered with empty cider bottles. He held two full ones close to his chest obviously scared I would steal them from him, he kept telling me to find my own and go away. I tried to tell him who I was and that I meant him no harm, but he didn't recognise me, he just kept shouting and edging away with a death like grip on his cider. I decided to retreat and leave him to it, before I did I threw two ten pound notes next to him, he snatched them up almost before they hit the ground, then his face broke into what I thought was a smile, but he was just baring his brown teeth to spit at me.

I left him alone and walked across the little bridge over the brook and up the hill on the other side, as I reached the top I stopped and looked across the park at my old school friend who had shown so much promise as a young man, and wondered how he could have sunk so low. He was urinating in the brook, taking a swig from his cider bottle and doing a little dance all at the same time. I walked through the old park gates and made a mental note to cross him off my dinner party list.