
Somehow it just happened, and now that he is gone, we guiltily admit to ourselves we haven't really thought about, let alone missed him for a long time. With nostalgia we maybe spare him a memory or two, and then we move on. It's the way of the world. It's human nature. It's just too bad.
We've all been there, and if we're honest with ourselves, we are not necessarily proud of what happened nor how it finally unfolded. But we find consolation in convincing ourselves the fault lay with him. I mean, somewhere along the way he just fell back and faded into irrelevance.
We are of course bemoaning the passing of the BlackBerry, the father of all smartphones and both status symbol and cult object for managers, politicians, celebrities, and OIPs (Other Important People) in the ten years, say, from 2002 through 2012.
If you've never come across OIPs before by the way, no wonder - I've just made it up. And I do think the term has potential.
The first time I was allowed to hold one in my hand - not an OIP, a BlackBerry of course - was in 2003 I think. Its proud owner was the Regional President North America for my company, hosting a management meeting on his home turf. We each took turns in admiring this wondrous piece of equipment, and once it had made its way safely back to our U.S. colleague, he put it away with the knock-out punch line: "And guys, the best thing about it is - it vibrates in my pants pocket."
What a classic.
Needless to say, as soon as I returned to the office back in The Old World, I started a campaign with IT to ensure I would get one myself, urgently and ahead of most others. I'm happy to report I succeeded - the techies generally tend to like me, not least because they can run circles around me, blissfully ignorant as I am to this day in their chosen field of expertise while always admiringly expressing my genuine awe at their wizardry.
Now, from his grave and I don't know how many generations of iPhones later (only launched in 2007 would you believe it), the BlackBerry handheld sends one last mail:
"Goodbye to you, my trusted friend
We've known each other since we're nine or ten
Together we climbed hills or trees
Learned of love and ABC's
Skinned our hearts and skinned our knees.
"Goodbye my friend, it's hard to die
When all the birds are singing in the sky
Now that spring is in the air
Pretty girls are everywhere
When you see them I'll be there.
"We had joy, we had fun, we had seasons in the sun
But the hills that we climbed
Were just seasons out of time."
Fewer than 40 songs in the history of popular music have sold ten million copies worldwide as "Singles", released on their own - Jacks' version of "Le Moribond" is one of them. With a bit of luck, Monsieur Brel's daughters Chantal, France, and Isabelle and their families will get a fresh windfall of royalties once my post has reliably gone viral...
This would now probably be a good point in time to examine disruptive technologies and inventions which changed the world forever, driving those that clung to the old ways and "missed the boat" into oblivion. And the iPhone is surely one of them. But I'd rather leave it to you come up with, say, the Top Three in our lifetimes.
Returning to farewells instead, as much as I would prefer to avoid the topic as it will spoil my otherwise good mood, I do have to say something on the baffling, unedifying, and downright depressing spectacle currently unfolding in the UK after the momentous departure 27 other European nations woke up to in the morning of 24 June 2016 - Brexit. To us Continentals it felt a little like long-term guests who just disappeared overnight without even leaving a good-bye note on the kitchen table.
The brave blogger's burden...
To begin, it must be rightfully acknowledged that, following a long and truly proud tradition (no irony), the British - to whom the world owes such delightful athletic games as football, tennis, rugby, badminton, and of course cricket (the list is incomplete) - have yet again created a new sport: Departing.
For Brexit, it still took them 43 years, but since that ill-advised referendum, others have enthusiastically embraced their new national discipline, risen to the challenge, and dramatically reduced the time spans. Sam Allardyce, the coach of the English national football team lasted 67 days ("Big" is not "Great"), and the new leader of one of Her Majesty's Opposition Parties held office exactly 18 days (and it's for this new record alone and for no other reason that her name must go down in the annals of Departing - Diane Jones).
So, while, as we all know, a week is a long time in politics, the spectacle of the Conservative Party's Conference held in Birmingham a few days ago was so, as the English would put it, "interesting" that it justifies a brief recapitulation.
In a nutshell, and to borrow a current catch phrase from across the Big Pond, Theresa May, the newly-unelected Prime Minister, said to an astounded but largely delighted audience: "We will make Britain little again." Both literally I would venture, once Scotland and Northern Ireland have seceded to remain in the European Union, and also metaphorically and in spirit.
Does anyone remember the hilarious BBC sketch show of about ten years ago, starring the brilliant comic duo David Williams (left) and Matt Lucas (right)? It was a wonderful example of one of the British people's most endearing and world-beating traits - "self-deprecating" humour.
The sketches were linked by an off-camera narrator presenting them as a guide for foreigners to how different segments of society lived on this island. Check out "The Only Gay in the Village" with a cameo appearance by Sir Elton John in one episode!
Underlying, however, and implicit in the title was a satirical reflection on the inward-looking, parochial, "insular" nature of the British and their attitude towards the rest of the world.
And this is where Mrs May now picks up the thread, the notable difference being that she seems to believe it's the way forward. In the words of Robert Shrimsley, one of my favourite columnists: "May offers a Dad's army version of Britain." Financial Times (7 October 2016) Back to the future, way back.
When it comes to the legitimate question how Brexit will be executed, however, without ruining this "small island nation" - according to latest estimates from the mandarins in the Treasury, it will cost £ 66 billion a year, foreign direct investment will collapse, and most if not all international companies with any meaningful representation will relocate elsewhere - realism is sadly missing ("We can have the cake and eat it too."), technical knowhow is totally absent, concrete proposals are non-existent, and even the slightest semblance of a strategy nowhere to be found.
The project is shared - based on what formula or along what lines nobody, including the boss, knows - between the Secretary for Foreign and Commonwealth Affairs; the Secretary of State for Exiting the European Union; the Secretary of State for International Trade; and the Secretary of State for International Development.
"But is there a plan, Prime Minister?" "Of course there's no plan. But why don't you ask Boris Johnson."
"But is there a plan, Boris?" "Of course there's no plan, but why don't you ask David Davis."
"But is there a plan, David?" "Of course there's no plan, but why don't you ask Liam Fox."
"But is there a plan, Liam?" "Of course there's no plan, but why don't you ask Priti Patel."
One more name must now be added to this impressive list of thoughtful, informed, and responsible political heavyweights and charismatic national leaders: Amber Rudd whose job title and portfolio have just been enlarged to Home and Away Secretary.
So farewell to the Proverbial Polish Plumber (how's that for an alliteration?); to the nurses and doctors keeping the NHS afloat, sort of; and to the waiting staff at the local pub and "that delightful little trattoria just around the corner which has just opened up". Well, that's going to be converted into a Fish and Chips place anyway.
Two decades on, and judging by latest developments in Little Britain, these friendly, welcoming, inclusive words would take on a totally different meaning - football is ours, we're repatriating it, and we don't want to play with you anymore. Oh, and we're keeping the ball too.
"We are taking back control."
And if I sound disengaged, disappointed, and disillusioned - well, I am. As an EU member state citizen currently residing in the UK, contributing to GDP and paying taxes, who did not get the chance to vote in that infamous referendum (a belated Happy Birthday to you, David Cameron - life begins at 50, so enjoy it!) I don't appreciate being reduced to a "bargaining chip" (Theresa May).
Remember Westlife, "Seasons in the Sun", and the 1999 UK Number One Christmas hit?
At the risk of digressing, for a humorous take on this venerable and loveable national British institution, watch (again) the wonderful movie, Love Actually (2003) and look out for Bill Nighy as ageing Rock 'n' Roll legend Billy Mack who manages to land a Christmas Number One single with an adapted seasonal version of the old Troggs classic, "Love Is All Around", first released in 1966.
Having spoken earlier of royalties for the Brel family, this was already the second time "Love Is All Around" was revived to huge success, actually [sic] generating more love and income not all around, but specifically for Troggs lead singer Reg Presley who wrote it than when the group first recorded it themselves decades earlier.
The soundtrack of the equally delightful film, Four Weddings and a Funeral (1994) also featured a cover version of "Love Is All Around" by the Scottish band Wet, Wet, Wet that actually [sic] spent 15 weeks at the top of the UK charts. Sadly, it then dropped to second place, narrowly missing the equalisation of the all-time record of 16 consecutive weeks set by - Bryan Adams and "(Everything I Do) I Do It For You" in 1991. Reg Presley actually [sic] used the unexpected income to finance his research into extraterrestrials and paranormal phenomena. I mean, the man actually [sic] had a life after Rock 'n' Roll.
The other Troggs hits, by the way, were the "Wild Thing", "With A Girl Like You", and "I Can't Control Myself". Nor can you kill a good song, as another friend of mine always says. And I promise you will benefit from all this not-quite random information at a pub quiz one day and then be glad you read it here...
I did warn you I was about to digress.
Well, it appears there is a plan to re-release the song this December in order to secure that elusive Christmas Number One spot - ending The Year of Taking Back Control at least on a musical high to balance the free fall of the once-proud Pound Sterling aka £ and GBP.
Sensibly, they have started with the chorus line which will now be:
"It's closing down
It's closing down
It's closing
Britain's closing down".
Now that's what I call topical, catchy, and right on message!
And who will record this hit? Again, according to my sources, it will be a girl group carefully put together from the finest singing talent of those constituencies that had the highest vote for "Leave" back in June. Auditions are on-going in the East Midlands and East of England regions.
Three names are being considered for the combo:
I hope they can work things out with the NHL franchise. It's definitely my favourite.
Speaking of Little Britain and BBC series. In 2002, the widely revered Mother of All Broadcasters aired a program entitled,100 Greatest Britons. The show was based on a television poll conducted among UK viewers to find out who the public thought were their greatest compatriots in history. The Top Three were Winston Churchill, Isambard Kingdom Brunel, and Diana, Princess of Wales (yes, indeed); followed by Charles Darwin and, in a disappointing fifth place, William Shakespeare.
By way of a compensation for this irreverent slight, and to show him the respect he so unreservedly deserves, the Bard from Stratford-upon-Avon shall have the last word in these ramblings on Farewells and Departures.
In Shakespeare's Roman play, Julius Caesar the co-conspirators and tyrannicides Cassius and Brutus meet on the eve of the decisive Battle of Philippi in Macedonia (October 42 BC). The friends were never to see each other again: their armies defeated separately, they both committed suicide, falling on their swords, as noble Romans would.
In his parting words, Brutus says:
"Forever, and forever, farewell, Cassius!