Yes, we’re still searching. Zig-zag was the connective tissue between me and Charlie. I remember another cat at the Storey, years ago, when I was teaching calligraphy, and it would sit on the sheet of paper, getting in the way. I didn’t know Zig-zag very well, but I’ll bet he liked to sit on paper as well.
The Bridges over the Lune show was packed, you wouldn’t be allowed to cram so many people into the gallery nowadays - the doors open inwards which makes it unsafe – but this was in the days before health and safety.
Charlie is like that. His doors open inwards and he leaves heavy things leaning against them making it impossible to get in.
I did reply to Charlie’s poem. I wrote him a note, slipped it into his jacket pocket so he’d be sure to see it. It said everything he’d hoped it would. But I don’t know what he thought about it, because there was no reply, and from that point on Charlie just seemed to drift away, and then the waiting the waiting, and then the nothing, the nothing, and then everything just crumbled like dead cake.
(I'd completely forgotten about the night Charlie dressed as a giant eyeball. Read about it on his blog here)
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