Urban Decay 9

Part 9: Can’t… Keith… Going… Much… Longer…

(See Keith’s journey here, if you haven’t already. Start at the bottom. Keith did).

Well, Keith’s time on this earth (the non-plumbing-related parts of this earth, that is) is nearly up. The Urban Decay project was always just going to be a year long, and his days, just like his twelve steps, are numbered.

We discussed this with Keith, and in between sobs and consolatory Chocolate Paddle Pops, he asked if he could write his own ‘bucket list’ – a list of things he wanted to do before he died.
We gave him a piece of paper and a pen, and he started with:

When I wake up in the mornin’ light
I pull on my jeans and I feel alri…

NO, Keith! No lyrics! Don’t make us tell you again. Now, do it properly.

We figured that since Keith has been so co-operative over the last twelve months, the least we could do was indulge him, so we got to work from the beginning of the list. We didn’t want to get in trouble with Nicole by giving him an actual drink (she kind of looks like she could shoot angry ginger lasers out of her eyes, you know?), but we did let him swim around in the swill we found in the bottom of a beer-tray.

Mmmm. Drippy. Brown.

We couldn’t really find a celebrity on such short notice, but we did stumble across Kirk Pengilly, so we split the difference.

You should look worried, mate. I’ve got a copy of Welcome To Wherever You Are somewhere that’s just gathering dust.

The hairy man-love thing was easy. Luckily, we routinely keep our hairy mate Threaders nearby for just such an emergency, and he took surprisingly little coaxing.

Tastes like denim and regret.

So that’s almost it.
Almost.

We’re planning one last farewell for Keith in Sydney this Saturday. If you feel that you need or deserve to come and say goodbye, email me at the address up there on the top left of the page (cleverly hidden in the words “Email Me”), and tell me about it. If your heart is true, you can come along.

I’m not crying. I’ve just got something in my eye.

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