Last Orders.

I hung up and walked back into the pub.

“Sorry Shay pal, I’ll have to owe you the pint, I have to get back home.”

“Alright mate. See you”

I never did. A day or two later he killed himself.

I wasn't a close friend of Seamus, but I’d known him a long time. He was the bar manager in the Pilgrim when I and my mates had run our comedy gig from 2004. After I left uni I didn't see him ‘till a few months back, when he called me over in the street.

We couldn't remember each others’ names, but we knew the face.

I drank in his new pub, the Thatched House, on and off until a fortnight ago, when it was mysteriously locked up. I found out yesterday why. Shay was gone, and he’d been found there.

I wasn't a close friend, but I think of myself as a friend. A lot of people did. He was a good guy and a great barman. He got me to drink six pints of Carling. He must have been a great barman to do that.

He seemed to know everyone, and everyone seemed to know him. I knew he’d had some trouble in the past, but to think I’ll never buy a pint of him again seems unreal.

He was my friend, and it hit me harder than I would have expected – not that you can ever expect this kind of thing. He wasn't much older than me, but he had a kid I think, and how would you get your head around your dad doing that? Part of me can’t believe he’s gone.

Wherever you are Seamus mate, I hope it’s a better place for you. Keep a barstool free for me, and when my time comes I’ll settle my liquid debt with you.

Those that knew him won’t forget him, and in that way he’ll never be fully gone.