[Agent99]

Here it is. I cried the first time I read this.

--
Troubadour Mic Christopher died last week (December '01) in the AZG Hospital, Groningen. My best friend ... Three weeks ago tonight, he fell over and banged his head. It was as simple as that. In the past days, his family, friends and I have been through every single emotion. Panic gives way to sadness, gives way to anger, gives way to determination ... to hope... and back again. There were days when it looked like he was pulling through and others when it seemed hopeless. He has fought very hard in his silence to demonstrate the fighter, the lover of life that we knew so well, but for some unattainable reason, he didn't come back this time. "We are like flies on the roof of the Sistine Chapel, we have no idea of the angels and beauty that lay beneath our feet". Only through the distance that accompanies time, will we begin to see the patterns and reasons why things are as they are today. Suddenly everything is precious: the last time we spoke, the text message still on my phone ("Where's me mate?"), the photographs, the shared lyrics, the borrowed clothes, the plectrum in my pocket ... But much more than that.... much more.... the knowing that flowed between two friends, the understandings, the shared goals, the arguments and the resolve.

I've known Mic since I was fifteen. I'd been busking on Grafton St. for about a year and was beginning to become comfortable with the idea of becoming a street musician. The money was pretty spare but that was never why we did it. While busking one Saturday, I met this lad about my own age with a guitar. He was pretty cool and I was quite intimidated. He watched me for a while before coming to say hello. The next week we busked together for the first time. We were mates straight off. That was the year that changed our lives - 1985. I had come from living and attending school in Ballymun, moving in small circles of friends, that all lived on the same block as me to this... My new best friend from Clondalkin ("Where the **** is that?). Our guardian and guru, Pete Short, who then sold "In Dublin", outside Bewleys, he was from Leeds and went to school with Brian Jones! Tom McGinty, (the Diceman), Patrick Healy, Kila, a bunch of kids from the southside who played amazing traditional music, Mark Dignam, our closest partner from Finglas, poetry readings, the Coffee Inn, Mannix Flynn, Pablo - suddenly our world was much bigger and full of a huge variety of characters.

We grew fast and absorbed the beauty of these unravelling circles all around us, not to mention the Krishna's, the Born-Again's, the mystics and witches. Our common sense and friendship were the buffer to their magnetism. So of course we moved in together. We rented a tiny two room in Harcourt St. above the Harcourt Hotel. The front door had no lock and everyday, all day, people moved through our place: leaving instruments off or just killing time. Tea, Songs, spliffs, songs, sleep, songs, golden days when romance was everything. Two kings stalling into town, giants, wide eyed and willing. We lived there for two years or so. Often, after a Saturday's busking, there could be up to fifty people, all up our stairs in our flat, playing songs, smoking, crashing out, and often myself and Mic would give each other the nod and quietly slip out, leaving the madness to go stay at a friend's house or sit in the Manhattan until the crowd dissipated. There are still four micro dots hidden in that flat somewhere, ( never hide it when your on it ) Mic fell in love with Sharon, a girl from Dundalk and told me he was going to live in London for a while. So we left the flat late one night to avoid outstanding rent. He jumped on a boat and I went my ma's.

I visited him on and off over the next year or so. In Mic's absence, the Frames was born and the big record deal, the Commitments etc. Things were good for me, but I was missing my mate. In a way this was good for us both. We needed to find our own way, apart, so that when we got together again, it would be even better than before. There was a tendency with us both to co-depend. When we were together, we wanted nothing but the moment and it was healthy to be apart for a while to address our own ambitions. When Mic finally returned to Dublin, things had moved on. I was making my first album, the singer in my own band and Mic had also been through so much. He'd been working as a chef in the Krishna temple in London and was a lay devotee. His heart had been broken and he needed to be home. All his songs addressed spiritual questions, set in Hindu beliefs. We had so much to talk about, so much to catch up on. Shortly after returning, Mic formed the Mary Janes, with old friend Karl Odlum and Simon Goode. This was an electric time for Mic. He was back in Dublin, doing his thing. We were mates again, although it wasn't the same as before. We were now in different bands and though we both agreed it was a good thing, we secretly planned to play together again (and we knew we would). The Mary Janes were going for it, as were the Frames. Both bands crossed paths and played on the same stages a hundred times or more; either us supporting them or them supporting us, it didn't matter.

This was the time I saw Mic least. With both bands playing all the time, we rarely got together, except for the odd chat or walk in Howth. Mic had always wanted to work with kids and when the Mary Janes had the opportunity to go to Bosnia during the troubles to work with WarChild, Mic got very excited. They spent about two months out there, in which time Mic worked along with other aid workers in the children's unit, doing Art Therapy. This was a joy to him and he was very sad to leave his little friends. When he returned, he was full of amazing stories and his heart was full of love for the kids he had worked with. I think he secretly longed to go back.

(cont.)