From Teresa Willmott
Douglas, DJ, Douglas Edward Fresh, Schmolin Boy
What a man. My overriding memory of DJ (as he was known to me) was that he was funny – proper funny. When I moved in with Andi in Walton on the Hill, Douglas rented the spare room. We got on instantly; he just made me laugh. It wasn’t always easy. Douglas was stubborn and liked things his own way. He loved formula one and I hate it. But Douglas could sit for hours (with a beer or two, or three) watching that infernal racket. I remember coming in one Saturday afternoon and there he was, reclining on the sofa, beers queued up, telly blaring, and I hear Murray Walker saying “and …look at him go, he’s wearing his shooting boots…” At that point I had to interrupt to ask what the hell crap Walker was talking about and we both came to appreciate that terrible commentary. Ever after that, when threatening to settle in for an afternoon of formula one, Douglas used to break into a really overdone impersonation of Murray Walker and his “shooting boots”.
Douglas had a few excellent impersonations and some terrible ones. He could never resist a James Bond impersonation if he was ever wearing a dinner jacket. This was bad. It was always the Sean Connery “Mish Moneypenny” that got me – so bad it was funny. He also used to do the odd Blackadder – “I have a cunning plan” routine and he loved quoting the ‘Baby eating Bishop from Bath and Wells’. Douglas never took himself too seriously – when he was drunk I would always try and persuade him to do the “robot moves”. Hilarious – he knew it was bad too and I can still picture his long limbs waving around and him turning his body through 90 degrees but really no resemblance to a robot whatsoever. But he would carry on, trying not to laugh at himself but knowing he was making everyone else laugh and loving the fact that he was the centre of attention. He did a great “Ministry of funny walks” because he had such long legs. I remember laughing uncontrollably one time as we walked back from the pub, with DJ doing a comedic goose step.
When Andi and I first started going out together I remember Douglas organising a trip to the lakes for about 10 of us. He said it would be a weekend of walking – and not knowing him so well at that time I didn’t realise just how serious he was. We drove up there on Friday night and got up early the next morning. I remember DJ behaving like a Sergeant Major, marching us outside straight after breakfast and in typical confrontational fashion saying “you want to know where we are going?... Up there!” pointing at the biggest mountain we could see – the Old Man of Coniston. I thought he was joking but I had bought new walking boots for the adventure and I was not going to have him think me a chicken. So off we went. Douglas was so serious it was funny. We came across some other people walking up the mountain who were not properly kitted out for the terrain. Douglas did that thing where he raised his eyebrows and looked down his nose and then in a most disapproving scathing (and very loud) voice said “look at those -Fashion trainers – some people have no idea”. He really could be unnecessarily serious at times – even that used to make me chuckle. I knew he thought I would never make it to the top of that mountain – but I did – and as I recall I got to the top before him.
A more stubborn man I have not met. He was incredibly argumentative – about everything. Not one point would he let go. And he was competitive. I remember telling him that if he ever had kids he would be like “competitive dad” from the Fast Show – going to the school performance and heckling his own child for being “rubbish”. We used to roar with laughter at that sketch. He used to be able to quote from it: “boo…hiss…he’s rubbish…wooden…dialect stilted and his understanding of verse is pedestrian”. He was irreverent and loved being politically incorrect. He loved the camp tailors from The Fast Show and regularly used the catchphrase ‘OOO suits you Sir!’ to signal his approval.
When we moved into the house in Walton it needed quite a bit of DIY work. Being a thoroughly modern woman I remember deciding that I would learn how to use Andi’s power tools. Once I got the hang of the power drill I was fixing everything –looking back it was definitely a phase; I became a bit obsessed – much to Douglas’ delight. He christened me “Power Tools Girl”. Ever the opportunist, from then on whenever anything broke he would look at me with a glint in his eye and say “looks like a job for power tools girl” hoping that this would get him out of having to try and do the repair and that I would fall for the flattery.
There were a few jobs around the house that Douglas hated. He didn’t like cleaning although he was incredibly fussy about the house being clean. And he loved keeping his car looking pristine – and really disapproved of those of us who weren’t fussed about this– like me. When he did his weekly shop, there was one job he absolutely loathed; taking the chicken pieces he had bought out of their packet and putting them into freezer bags to store. The look of disgust on his face was a picture and he would handle the chicken as if it was red hot, breathing through his mouth so that he couldn’t smell it. It was so entertaining I used to make sure I was there to spectate. After a few weeks he finally realised how amusing I found this spectacle– thankfully he saw the funny side.
Douglas you have left this world far too soon - I am going to miss you so very much. You were the best man at my wedding and you took that on with great aplomb. Wherever you are, power tools girl is sending you lots of love. You were great to be around and uplifting company. In the words of Charlie Brown ‘Goodbye always makes my throat hurt’, so true that phrase right now.
