Brothers in Arms.

Where are the adults? Shouldn't there be adults?

Now the sun's gone to hell
And the moon riding high
Let me bid you farewell
Every man has to die
But it's written in the starlight
And every line in your palm
We're fools to make war
On our brothers-in-arms

Written by Mark Knopfler.

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“Where are the adults when you need them?” I thought. “Shouldn’t there be adults?”

It was yesterday, as we watched in abject horror what had taken place in the Oval Office of the White House, but I wasn’t thinking about Trump or his horrible little sidekick. My thoughts were on my friend Keith, who I was about to visit for possibly the last time.

It didn’t seem right, just the two of us meeting, with nobody explaining things. I mean, it was only yesterday that we met as schoolboys. I could picture him: long, curly hair, a beaming smile, a slim build, but not at all sporty.

It was only yesterday, wasn’t it?

I opened the curtains and looked up at Mt Ngongotahā; it felt comforting. I don’t want to sound like Peter Williams; I am not tangata whenua, yet it is my maunga, and Rotorua felt like my home, even after being away for so many years.

Photo: Rod Hill | Credit: Getty Images/iStockphoto

My parents have prepared me badly for such situations. I am greatly fortunate that they are alive and that death is not something I know well. Yet, at this moment, the fact that death was a relative stranger left me exposed and without reference.

“Keith with the teeth”, the neanderthals we went to school with called him; such was their mentality.

There wasn’t anything wrong with his teeth; in fact, out of our group, I reckon he had the finest pair of gnashers going - still does, but teeth rhymed with Keith, and so there it was - 14-year-old boys, eh.

There were four of us, a small pack but large enough to mostly keep the wolves at bay. Others on the periphery came and went, but through these critical years, we were four: myself, David, Matthew, and Keith.

I don’t remember the last time we were all in a room together, but I guess it has been thirty years.

We were going to reunite as a surprise for my 50th Birthday back in 2021, but like so many others, we missed that occasion, and the opportunity was gone.

I certainly don’t begrudge what the government did during Covid; I fully support it, but I feel the loss of that time we would’ve had together.

In 1989, my girlfriend Maria and I packed the car with our two dogs and headed for the big smoke. At 18, playing in my first band and living in a new city, it was an exciting time, but also wretchedly lonely. I missed my mates a lot.

Keith came and stayed for a bit, which was really good, and then when it was time for him to go, he walked up Chinaman’s Hill to the bus stop where we lived in Grey Lynn so he could get a bus to the main station.

From the lounge, I watched him walking away up the road, and I panicked. Dashing out the door, I caught up with him and waited at the bus stop until it went. I don’t know why, but it was okay after that; I just hadn’t been ready.

Yesterday, as I looked up at Mt. Ngongotahā, I thought of that and wondered how I would feel walking away from his house. Knowing I couldn’t rush back, it wouldn’t be fair.

Since I’d last seen him, he’d lost a lot of weight. Yet he also seemed more recognisable, perhaps because he was no longer receiving the treatment that had discoloured his skin and, well, I’m sure you know the side effects. His hair had started to grow, and he joked about the potential need for having a shave.

I hadn’t intended to, but we discussed politics. Even as significant as the latest events were, they seemed meaningless in the context of our conversation. We touched on local issues; we didn’t have the same views—it didn’t matter. I changed the subject. There were more enjoyable things to speak of.

Family, pets, old times, people barely remembered, and a few surprises even after so long.

When it came time to go, some things were said out loud, some not, but they were present. I didn’t turn and run back, but I chickened out and said I would be back—how could you not? Nobody ever taught me that.

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We returned to Auckland a few hours ago, so I thought I’d send some words. It felt like a long time, and writing is therapeutic - I had a good old sob putting the above down.

Tomorrow, I’ll be back to writing about politics, I imagine. Is there anything going on?

I’m kidding.

Something I decided while down the line was that this experiment of making most of my writing available to all hasn’t worked. Some of it is undoubtedly economic uncertainty and a reluctance to spend on unnecessary things. But I’m sure that making so much content available for free has created a disincentive for people to pay.

There will still be some free newsletters, but most of my writing will be paid from now on. Unfortunately, I can’t afford to continue giving it away.

I appreciate it’s a bit of a dick move to announce this right after my February discount has finished, so I’ll extend that a few more days keeping it at $8 a month or $80 for a full year for all my work.

Thank you to the paid subscribers who stuck by me even when the paywall came down. Your support means a tremendous amount to me. 🙂 The only change for you will be less advertising, so yay!

Back in those summer days in the late '80s, few albums were bigger than this one. I can hear it floating on the breeze as I imagine us, young brothers, together against the world.