You can shed a tear that he is gone or you can smile because he has lived
On 15 June a young man was jet-skiing off the coast at Seaford, East Sussex. No one can know for certain what happened out there, but he never returned.
Lost at sea, Andy Funnell was a pro windsurfer; he was also just 21.
My daughter knew of him through the usual friend-of-a-friend circle. I certainly never met him, so as I plodded past his windswept floral tribute on the seafront earlier this evening, I was desperately trying to make some sense of why his death has affected me so much.
Local, certainly. Indeed I can think of no other logical reason other than some sort of guilt in that here am I, a plodding, beer-swilling slob still wheezing along pretending to be a runner in the vain hope that it could in some way prolong my fading youth, whilst Andy, a young man exactly half my age, with so much talent has had his life cut so short. One only needs to read the tributes left on the website set up in his memory to understand what he meant to so many others.
My thoughts are with his family and friends. Andy Funnell, I plodded for you today.
I´m sorry, SP. Here in Almería another experienced young windsurfer was lost whlle surfing last Easter. Although he was advised not to go windsurfing that day because it was very windy, he decided to go out. After several days, his body appeared near the Algerian coast. He happened to be the cousin of a pupil of mine. It was a great shock for his family and friends.
