It is 1994, I am in a cab on the way from the offices of a new internet company in Cambridge back to the station. Rolling along I chat with my colleague Charles about various things, Liverpool football club, Ayrton Senna and other topics that interest us individually but which we find aspects of that we share an enthusiasm for. I had first encountered this guy when I joined a new company in 1993. He was head of one of the three business divisions, I was a saleman in another. He had levels of enthusiasm and energy that were very unusual, his team were very loyal to him, he was probably ten years younger than the heads of the other two divisions.
Whilst at that company, despite not initially working in the same area, we shared a few taxi rides and generated much business. When the initial phase of the business was over, many changes were made and we both left and went our seperate ways, but kept in touch. He set up his own business and I worked for two or three others before joining him again in 1999. There followed what was probably the most intense year of my life during which we, and others, formed a partnership with a large established media business, raised venture capital funding and charged about the place trying to change the world, before the money ran out and everything crashed to a halt. I remember the meeting at the lawyers' office in the City when the funding had been signed up, it was in a very large penthouse type meeting room, they had a butler there and I seem to remember being told I could order anything I fancied. We were all so knackered with it all though that we just went to the pub afterwards for one, rhater downbeat drink.
That little business employed some great people which was largely down to Charles's charisma, everyone believed that amazing things were going to happen and I reckon that if we used the same business plan about now, the technology and the market would be ready for it (unlike then). I remember going to Cannes with him to some exhibition or other. We got pretty drunk one evening (I had been serving drinks in the bar as the barman was frequently elsewhere) and the following morning we got up after everyone else. We (or rather he) decided there wasn't much point in going to meetings as our colleagues would be there and report back to us later. He asked if I wanted to suggest anything, so we got the train along the coast to Beaulieu sur Mer and then got a taxi up to the Voile D'Or on Cap Ferrat where we had a delicious lunch overlooking the port. We left there in time to get back to Nice Airport in the late afternoon, we had been the only people in the dining room. It was a very Charles 24 hours; he was full of wisdom and big plans.
There is no question at all that he was unusually bright, he had a kind of confidence bordering on arrogance, but you couldn't help wanting to see him win. The office was round the corner form the Eagle, next door to the Guardian. I remember he got in an argument with the proprietor about some thing or other which he proposed to resolve by "buying the fucking pub". We had to drag him out of there.
By the time the company was being dismantled our relationship had become rather tense, what with the various pressures and we lost touch for a while except through mutual friends.
In 2002 I heard that he had been diagnosed with an inoperable brain tumour, that his wife was divorcing him and that he couldn't work properly due to having frequent seizures.
I made contact again (thanks to our friend Tina) and we started to see each other fairly regularly. Typically we would meet up, have a few drinks or a meal, he would tell me about his various projects (of which there were many). I'd stay at his or he would come to Brighton for an evening.
On one occasion I met him at the Hotel du Vin in mid afternoon. By late afternoon, as it was very busy, we were joined by a small hen party (which had nowhere else to sit). The bride to be was marrying someone called Charles and her dad's name was Adrian, she took this as some kind of omen and we spent most of the evening with them, it was one of those slightly weird incidences when you feel you know everyone. Another time I accompanied him to Copenhagen ostensibly to hang out but also to visit a Matisse exhibition. I have mentioned that trip elsewhere in this organ.
His seizures had got him into all sorts of trouble; falling off his pushbike (he was not allowed to drive), falling over generally and bashing himeself quite badly. One Saturday though, I was on the Kings Road when he rang me. That was the one and only occasion he asked me for anything or gave any indication that he might be a bit cheesed off about his circumstances, he was amazingly diginifed, despite everything. He was calling from Chelsea and Westminster Hospital, he had been transferred there three weeks before, due to the serious burns he had sustained when he had managed to pour a kettle of boiling water over his leg when he had a fit making himself a cup of tea. I met him in a pub just along Fulham Rd from the hospital. When I arrived, he was sitting at a table outside with someone he'd persuaded to go in an buy him a drink; he was in a wheelchair. When it was time to leave we headed off back to the hospital looking (I suspect) quite a lot like those two little Britain characters. When we pulled up outside the hospital he started to say cheerio and I offered to take him in to his room. He thought about it for a second and then said ok, but that if asked, I was to say I was his cousin and he had not been drinking.
About a year ago he came to Brighton. He seemed different, it felt kind of final, we went for a couple of beers, he told me about his plans for the year, he was going off to Spain for six months or so to continue to write one of the books he was working on. There was a kind of a calmness maybe even resignedness about him that I did not recognise. He asked me about my business and I reported a particular problem that I had been on my mind. He told me in no uncertain terms what I needed to change to fix it, I still think about that advice.
In September I was trying to find the handbrake in a hired people-carrier in the station car-park in Jasper, British Columbia when my phone rang and I noticed that it was Tina, I would not have expected a call from her as she knew I was out of the country, I had a bit of a moment and started to breathe a bit harder.
The other day I was outside Boots in Brighton when a young Charles doppelganger strode passed. I felt like congratulating him on the achievements and contribution to other people's lives he was due to make in his own. I will always remember the fun we had and appreciate the strength he is aparently still able to share with me.
The third film of this name from Mr Jarmusch is the first one that I have seen. A series of what those film buffs would call vignettes, I found this a bit clunky to say the least, particularly as it would appear that much if what is going on is improvised by the (in some cases) rather self-conscious players. The segments are all in black and white and feature coffee and cigarettes as the main props (get it); some it has to be said, were quite enjoyable, there is one with Steve Coogan and Alfred Molina which I particularly liked.
