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Ann Hamer RIP

April 23, 2014

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I first met Ann when I was about nine. She was a year older. Blonde. Glamorous. And had orange patent sling back shoes and a matching handbag. I was so in awe of her. She found everything funny and would make a joke out of things that weren’t. She just wanted a good time. Our sisters were best friends and our mums were close so we spent quite a lot of time together.
But it was when we’d both left school and moved to London that we became closer. She’d trained as a nurse and I was a medical student. Both of us up from the country and loving London. She lived in Camberwell before it was trendy and I used to go there for parties. Wild parties that were fantastic.
And then she gave up nursing and became a receptionist in Peat Marwick and Mitchell in Blackfriars. She got to wear nice clothes and high strappy sandals every day instead of the frumpy nurse uniform and she came to live with me in Central London. She had money and went out for meals in Covent Garden and picked up men all the time. They doted on her. Were devoted to her and adored her. She juggled them all and would come home with hilarious tales of her escapades in posh restaurants, penthouse flats in the Barbican and fast cars. She loved life and made the most of it. I have a strong memory of her singing “We are family” at the top of her voice in our bedroom whilst strutting her stuff and lifting up her skirts. We were collapsed in mirth.
She went on a first date to Tuttons and ordered spare ribs. Spilt some sauce down herself so went to the bathroom to wash it off. Only to discover her lovely green chiffon dress went see through when wet. Undeterred she returned to the restaurant and brazened it out. Being a stunning, incredibly sexy blonde helped in situations like that. She simply looked like she had won a wet tee shirt competition and pulled it off with aplomb.
We moved to Herne Hill and it was whilst there she met the man who she would marry. They had a passionate courtship with water fights , ketchup fights, shouting out of windows, emptying pans of water over each other’s heads from great height and lots of laughter too. She left Herne Hill to live with Eddie and they had children who she adored. If they have inherited half her sense of fun and joie de vivre they are lucky indeed.
Here’s to Ann. May she rest in peace.

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