Zoë Heron, Jason's friend from Trinity College, Cambridge
Eulogy IV
For many of us here, Jason is synonymous with the
partying, philosophising and drinking of Trinity College, Cambridge
in the early ‘90’s. I don’t remember the first time I saw Jason – it was
fresher’s week and as you can imagine I was drunk – but I remember the second.
He burst into my room the next day, full of life, ridiculously floppy red hair
and literary quotes. In what seemed like a fug of dull public school clones, he
was a breath of invigorating fresh air. Over the next three years Jason proved
to be everything that I hoped Cambridge would be – terrifyingly intellectual,
great fun and always up for a party.
Each of us has our own memories of him. Just crossing Great Court he cut quite a
figure – with his ridiculous grin, sparkly eyes and shock of red hair bursting
out of his lanky frame, always swathed in that infamous green baseball jacket.
Just seeing him on the other side of the Court would lift my spirits – here was
a man who understood the complexities and darkness of life and yet could make
you laugh with the silliest joke and fire you with the deepest philosophical
debate.
With his girlfriends he was also hopelessly romantic – I remember him swooning
over Anna singing her her favourite Beautiful South songs. With his friends, he
was gentle and kind – I have a string of toys and books that he’d bring me when
I was down (which was quite often in that first year). And nights out on the
lash were, well, usually forgotten in a haze to be honest – but always involving
some ridiculously deep discussion at the bottom of a bottle. He and Kit, or
Adrian, or Giles or Alistair, or whoever else would be willing to go into
literary combat, could regularly be found thrashing it out until the small
hours.
One of my strongest memories is my excitement and relief when Jason said he
would like to share a flat with me, when we left. I was worried about coming
down to earth with a bump after three such fantastic years, and I knew that
living with Jason would be stimulating, and never, ever be boring. And there
were many emotions living with Jason, as I’m sure Lawrence would agree – largely
involving living with a 6 foot 5” inebriated swaying force of chaos – but
boredom was never one of them. With Jason and James writing sketches, musicals
and scripts it was an exciting and creative time.
In later years Jason and I lost touch – I, like many, lost to the daily
intricacies of small children, Jason battling with other, less tangible, demons.
Out of necessity I am forced to respect his choice – but I wish I didn’t have to
– and wish I’d had the chance to say goodbye.
ADRIAN METCALFE’S MEMORIES OF JASON
Being told that it was only fitting that the tallest boy in the year should be
standing next to the shortest at matriculation photo; wondering why I let anyone
persuade me that it was a good idea to build a pyramid of beer
cans in my room
window; laughing until the early hours of the morning; waking up to find a
wrong-gendered redhead on the floor of my room; arguing until the early hours of
the morning; waking up to find myself on the floor of a wrong-gendered redhead’s
room; standing on a chair to teach a shambling incompetent how to tie a bow-tie;
realising Reminiscences; missing someone.
I have found it very difficult to encapsulate my ‘favourite’ memories of our
infuriating and inspiring friendship, and – to be honest – it would have been
thoroughly unfair on all the memories that would have been left out.
Before all of these memories came tumbling down (as if they were rolling toward
the two-tongued sea, eh J?), the overwhelming feeling that I had was one of
sorrow. I could sense that there were tears welling up, and then an image
occurred to me that had happened over and over in reality. Jason leaning over me
in a comically threatening manner; and he said: ‘Oh shut up, you Welsh twat’.
Thanks for everything J. Missing you already. Don’t go changing.
