One of the most joyous things about mine and Llŷr’s friendship was that we both knew how to make the other one laugh. A lot. I don’t think I’ve ever managed to make somebody laugh as much as Llŷr, and I’m damned sure nobody ever made me laugh as much as he did.
Making Llŷr laugh was one of my favourite things to do, because he was so funny to watch when he laughed, especially when I’d said something a little close to the mark and he tried to suppress it. You could see his face going bright red, his eyes bulge, his shoulders would begin to shudder as he clutched his sides and attempted to hold them in check. Usually, he would cave in, and would literally roll on the sofa laughing; other times he’d just have that great big grin on his face as he giggled away to himself. If I managed to time it just right, I could make him spray whatever he was eating or drinking out of his mouth.
As I mentioned in a recent post, when we lived together – mostly before he got ill, but we endeavoured to keep it going after that too – it was a constant, if unspoken, quest between us to get the other to crack up. We had honed it down to a fine art, sometimes not even needing to speak, a quick glance in his direction at the right time let him know exactly what I was thinking and that was enough to set him off. Often this was done purely for comic effect, but it would be true to say that Llŷr was a very patient and accommodating chap whilst I, on the other hand, was quicker to take exception to someone. And when we were watching TV, this was often based on nothing more than the way they spoke or dressed.
I was reminded of this on Sunday morning, when I woke on the sofa having nodded off after watching Joe Biden’s victory speech (falling asleep on the sofa was in itself a very Llŷr thing to do). The TV was on, and through half-open eyes I located the remote and flicked through the channels to see if there was anything to watch rather than go to bed. I landed on a repeat of an old game show, and as the quizmaster greeted each contestant in turn, it only took one of them to say “Hello” and I found myself arching one eyebrow upwards and turning to my right, to where Llŷr would have been sitting in the Flat of Filth (he always sat to my right at home, a bit like Ant and Dec). It was a glance which I knew if he caught, he would be able to interpret and hopefully a fit of giggles would ensue.
Only to be reminded, yet again, that he has gone, and that I’ll never be able to make him double-up laughing again.
Llŷr bloody loved Prince, rightly so, so this seems appropriate: