The C30 cassette concluded with a terminal thud, plunging the darkened room back into silence. The lounge of Angus’s small, terraced house, in a neglected and unfashionable part of South East London, was familiar to me, even in the gloom. I had sat on this scruffy old sofa countless times chatting with him. Our discussions ranged from the prosaic to the profound; from soccer—and our shared love of an equally neglected and unfashionable South East London football team—to philosophy and the meaning of existence. But nothing in any of those conversations prepared me for this moment. As I reached for my phone to call the emergency services, I recalled the day I’d first met Angus, almost exactly a year ago.
It was one of those really warm afternoons you sometimes get on the opening day of a new football season, when the conditions are more suited to cricket than soccer. The players of Crystal Palace Football Club, the Eagles, entered Selhurst Park stadium, walking out to the sound of their anthem, “Glad All Over,” blasting from the PA system. The Dave Clark Five were promising us truth, loyalty, and everlasting happiness. In response thousands of voices sang along, unanimously affirming that they were indeed feeling glad all over. A stout elderly man, his head topped with a froth of white curls, smiled as I wedged myself into the red plastic seat beside him. I was expecting a traditional South London greeting—a nod or maybe even an “All right, mate?”—so I was taken by surprise when, in an accent of a peculiar blend of Croydon and Glasgow, he said, “Epicurus taught that to enjoy a happy life, we should seek to avoid suffering.” Holding out his hand he added, “I’m Angus, and I suspect we will be sharing more than a small amount of suffering, watching our beloved Eagles together this season.”
It’s always potluck who you end up sitting next to when you have a season ticket,
