From The Editor 

I had never before thought about the stage in my life where I would reach the age at which friends and peers would start dying from old age.  But now I have, and I hate it so. It feels worse that when I technically reached retirement age, I moved to the US full-time and left my London life behind. Although there can be no physical distance that dilutes those friendships that so crucially became part of your very being. And I am thankful for small mercies in that my memory, which now challenges my daily life so irritatingly, still remains intact when it comes to all the important people in my life.  Like Peter Harrington.

I will profess to not knowing exactly how/where we met, but I’ve been honored to call him one of my very dear friends for decades rather than just years. Before both of us met our husbands and settled down, we could be found very regularly together on the hunt for our respective Mr Rights or even Mr Right Nows. Looking back, I wouldn’t say we were that discriminating, whether we were in some London gay bar or maybe an art gallery opening, or that we were really the such ‘great catches’ that we thought we were.

One of the (many) things I loved about Peter is that he did nothing in half measures.  The things he loved he did so with unwavering passion.  Likewise, to the things he disliked, nay hated.  This ranged not just to men but also fashion, all levels of culture, and also personal taste. He was highly opinionated and very forthright, and could be quite dismissive if you didn’t agree.  But he did this with such a joy that even if you disagreed (God forbid!) he wouldn’t hold it against you.

He knew that he had good taste, and we all remember only too well when he started dealing in antiques when Morocco was still very much his second home from home for some years, and we still have some dotted around our house too.

I think most of all, it was his outrageous, wicked sense of humour combined with his very sharp tongue that I probably loved most all, even if I was ever the target. It was part of his very essence that made him a better person and friend than I think he ever knew.  As I write this now, I find myself very fervently hoping he knew that I knew.

I was often the beneficiary of his generosity, like when I founded QUEERGURU back in 2014, and he was my very first reviewer.  That was quite a worry at times, as I knew if he ever hated a play/film he so wouldn’t hold back from saying so in very graphic detail.  

He was a born salesman, whether it was at Jasper Conran or later at YSL, but one always got this feeling that they were a means to an end,  and that his happiness and satisfaction in life came elsewhere, like with his life with his husband Alex, who left his life in Brazil to marry him.

I know the immense sadness I have felt since learning about his death will fade in time, but what will remain is the memory of all those serious, silly moments he and I shared and that will always remain as indelible highlights of my life

Farewell Peter. RIP