Yankel Feather RIP

Ah, Yankel Feather.

I remember him from way back when I must have been around four years old, and he was a good friend of my mum and dad's, and he probably (I say probably because I'm not quite sure) was also an Everyman Bistro regular. 

He was the first naturally camp man I ever met; an elegant, stylishly flamboyant original thinker with a sharp tongue, a lively mind and a gentle, perceptive soul. 

He once gave me a little painting: a 7x5 oil painting of a bowl of fuschias in a beautiful, gold leafed, antique frame. That painting has survived many relocations over more than three decades; today, it hangs on my bedroom wall amongst my collection of framed postcards. The dedication on the back of the painting, etched in thick black marker pen (and written, n'est pas, in a stylised, languid flourish), reads "For Melissa, with love from Uncle Y". Unfortunately, I can't remember the circumstances under which he gave me the painting and nor, oddly enough, can either of my parents. But there it hangs, and there it will continue to hang until, I guess, I've warranted my own obituary.

Anyway, RIP Yankel: may your version of heaven be as beautiful as the one you created - in either oil paints or by blessing those who knew you with your company - here on earth.