The dart board was the central fixture in the living room. There were countless games of Cricket and x01. I still remember him teaching me the rules. That damn double one, so easy in concept, so difficult to actually hit. We all developed some skill, but he was good. I can’t recall ever having beat him. At some point (possibly before I was even born) my aunt dubbed him ‘Dartman’.

New Years Day I finally got around to rehanging the board in my basement. It was cathartic. I’ve been obsessed since, shooting for bulls-eye and triple twenty at every spare moment. 1:30 AM, comfortable weight of the steel tip, fluid arm motion, each bristly ‘thunk’ sparking memories of laughter and games played and good times. Providing precious but little solace. Now five years gone, the man who I learned so much, yet didn’t have the chance to learn enough from.