Another family friend passed away on Tuesday. Although this particular friend spent his last days in Manchester, it’s still a stark reminder that I’m expected to lead several local funerals within this family. I take it all in good humour because I’ve always had older parents and therefore I’ve never had to experience the specific pain of watching my parents/extended family grow old because they always were old. In Kindergarten I would chat with my classmates who had parents in their 20s. My Mum and Dad were in their 40s and 50s, respectively. My Dad’s memory is quickly fading which is par for the course in terms of alcohol-onset dementia. I plan on setting up a microphone/dictaphone and getting as much information from him as I can, before he forgets again. Maybe I could be ~THE toff~ who writes a historical account of Ealing circa 1940-1955. Pretty sure half of the village moved over when my dad did. The upside is that there’s hundreds of pubs I could pop into across the country, say who my father is, and be treated like an esteemed guest. Not royalty, just “Hey, my dad used to crack safes with your Dad back in the sixties. Can I grab a pint?”.
