Lunch With Al Guilford

Let me tell you about me first… I’ve decided to live in Hawkes Bay. The Heartland. I’ve got nothing personal against the big cities, I’ve just had enough of them… For years I’ve rabbited on to my family about getting back to the land, living in a shed in the bush, and becoming One with the Universe. Don’t laugh! It seems 2003 is my moment. I only have myself to answer to - the family have grown up, and only rely on me for my ability to transfer money to their accounts via internet banking. All my wit and wisdom has been passed on. (Again, don’t laugh!)

Which is why my visits to the Big Smoke are precious now. Work is the reason I come, but while I’m here I take the opportunity to catch up with influential industry types, my lovely young daughters and a few grumpy old men. I was in Auckland recently to attend the TV awards, and having missed Allen on previous visits, I was determined to see him this time. I had brought a CD with David Carradine reading Jack Kerouac’s On the Road for him. Another in my seemingly inappropriate titles – my last gift was someone reading The Blind Assassin!

I’ve known Allen since before time began. We met in Wellington, where I was privileged to learn my craft alongside a bunch of very talented and generous people, some of whom I’ve maintained contact with over the years. Allen is one. I love his work, his spirit, and his wit…

I rang, and we agreed I’d pick him up from one of his medical appointments, and as it was approaching noon, a trip to the Monarch Café in Pukekohe was in order. We both ordered the cajun chicken, served with lovely potato cakes and a dash of salad.

As we ate, we talked about old times, we talked about old friends, and our families. We compared notes about our treatment at the hands of ACC. When I had my accident, I was paying for income protection insurance, but come time to collect, hey presto, the fine print made sure no money came my way. They said their policy was a ‘top-up’, and that ACC was already paying me enough. Oh, the fine print.

We considered new career choices for a cameraman with vision difficulties, and I suggested wine tasting, which brought a wry smile. He still has a fabulous twinkle in his one good eye. We spoke of sound recording as an option [both of us have dabbled with VU meters and noises in the past], but we decided this was an art best left to the experts. I’m reading the ‘World History of Salt’, so we discussed our love of this forbidden delight while we sprinkled liberally. Frowned upon by the medical profession, of course!

He told me of his morphine dreams during the operation months, dreams that were so real, he’d wake up and tell anyone who’d listen, “This happened, it’s the truth!” One dream that I particularly liked, had him chained to the bed by the Wilson sisters [I think I’ve had that dream too]. When he awoke he was actually tied to his hospital bed, probably to restrain any wild flailing. Those Wilson girls have a lot to answer for.

After lunch it was back to his place, a lovely old house with a rambling garden of fruit and flowers [grapefruit in abundance - strictly forbidden by his doctor – a bad mix with his drugs, apparently].

We strolled around. He spoke of being able to mow the lawns soon, and how he liked visitors.

It was now time for me to head off to the Bay, and we said our farewells.

On the drive home I had time to reflect on my lunch with Allen. I take so much for granted. My eyes, particularly. I can drive. I can read a menu without difficulty. I can read the printed word without the aid of a special projector. I can earn a living, and provide little luxuries for my kids and grandchild. And I’ve never had to think of life’s Plan B, in case this was all taken away.

My lunch with Allen was enjoyable, and inspirational. I recommend spending some time with him. Do lunch. He says he’s not putting people off now, so ring him up, and squeeze yourself in between physio sessions and his consultations with Doctor No.

And watch his good eye. It’s hard to believe that he’s not seeing things pin-sharp, there’s such a sparkle in there.

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