My friend

This is my friend Nina. In the photo she looks exactly as I remember her. Many were the times that we went around London by bus, and we usually went to Greenwich. We both loved the area, especially the park and the river. When we were out we'd eat in a restaurant, usually Chinese, or in the pie and mash shop.
Nina came from a more genteel world, and had the corresponding vocabulary. I enjoyed her plain speaking and sharp sense of humour. I loved her intellect. Despite being told that she was not expected to succeed because of her disability, she trained as a teacher, flew around the world, got married and had two daughters.
Nina was a good friend to me for many years. In my very sad younger years, she befriended me, encouraged me with my music, and treated me with dignity. For some years she was my only friend. She loved it when I played her piano.
Last year she went into hospital with a chest infection. The staff didn't give her the warfarin she needed to thin her blood, and she suffered a massive stroke. I visited her in hospital as often as I could, and still find that memory harrowing. Nina died a year ago today.
There is nothing else to say.