Twenty years is a fuck of a long time. I usually get the date wrong but the fact it’s dydd Santes Dwynwen (some say the Welsh equivalent of St Valentine) makes it more remarkable. Love. Things I remember about Dad:

How cheerful and happy he was
His creativity and artistic side, always making stuff when he wasn’t working
His cooking and his love of food
His beautiful intricate handwriting
His love of wildlife and nature, and wartime and western films
His occasional short-lived outbursts of anger
His limp from a stroke at 35
His passion and emotion
His love of music and singing
The one time he came to see me swimming
Him making up bedtime stories about the little blue bird
The time we both went shopping to Kwiks and I lost him, and the relief when I found him again
How I felt safe and held when he was there
His absence

I feel grateful to be working today

Memories of happier more carefree times:

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