Reasons to be Cheerful 2021

 

1.     Emma Raducanu winning the US Open.

2.     Shamefully, I only listened to two albums from start to finish this year. I’m glad one of them was Bo Burnham’s Inside. His finest hour, a lockdown work-of-art.

3.     Help was a searing, vital piece of television.

4.     Jack Thorne is a national treasure: his Desert Island Discs was so moving, a real tribute to his mum and dad who gave their life to the care of others.

5.     The chemistry between Sharon Horgan and Aisling Bea in This Way Up.

6.     Stath Lets Flats grows more confident each series. Jamie Demetriou has created an iconic comedy character.

7.     Rose giving a platform to the deaf community on Strictly.

8.     Russell T Davis’ It’s A Sin had it all: comedy, tragedy, music – it was an education on a dark period in British history.

9.     The British public seem to be growing tired of Boris Johnson. Serious times requires a serious mind: the man is frequently found wanting.

10.  Tom Daley achieving gold.

11.  Watching Rhod Gilbert doing stand-up in October.

12.  Going back to Vicarage Road in August for the opening day. The atmosphere was electric.

13.  Getting tickets to see Watford’s favourite, Elton John.

14.  Next year, I’m down to see Jez Butterworth’s Jerusalem and Steve Coogan’s Alan Partridge.

15.  Seeing Hamilton on a Disney+ free trial. It isn’t hyperbolic to say it’s Shakespearean in scope, exuberance and artistry.

16.  My brother getting his flat how he wants it.

17.  We take Kit to a little gym class on a Saturday; seeing the care the staff have for the children is humbling. It’s easy to be kind to your own, but a sign of goodness if you’re kind to others.

18.  I know it shouldn’t matter but for the first time in a long time I had lovely cards from the Year 11s I teach. A thoughtfully written card is really worth more than a present – which coincidentally is what I said to my family at Christmas.

19.  Piers Morgan getting the old heave-ho. Cheerio, cheerio, cheerio.

20.  Watford getting promoted back to the Premier League.

21.  Claudio Ranieri coming in as Watford manager.

22.  My work buddy bought me so many lovely Watford gifts: calendar, mug and socks. Nice one!

23.  England getting to the final in the Euros.

24.  Gareth Southgate’s letter to England supporters explaining why his players would take the knee and how he was proud of them for doing so.

25.  Jurgen Klopp for just about everything he says: on vaccinations, public health, inclusivity in sport – he is the best of men.

26.  Bo Burnham’s White Woman on Instagram achieves the impossible in skewering vanity, yet empathetically understanding it. The song is a game of two halves: satirical, then heartfelt.

27.  I really enjoyed Sam Fender’s ‘Seventeen Going Under.’

28.  Seeing how much my students enjoyed listening to Arthur Miller’s A View From The Bridge.

29.  I do a job where I have to read new poems, plays and stories – it’s alright really.

30.  I was appointed to a new position in work.

31.  I work with very kind people.

32.  Donald Trump being voted out of office. Twitter is not the place for political discourse.

33.  My mum’s birthday is a happy sunlit memory.

34.  Kit turned one. This was the six in the garden rule. We had people coming in three-hour slots to celebrate his special day. We should have put ‘work meeting’ on the invitation to circumvent government directive.

35.  Leicester winning the FA Cup. (Two of my best mates are Leicester fans.)

36.  Re-learning how to ride a bike.

37.  I got the Theivamanoharan handshake for my carrot cake.

38.  Michelle, Clare, Ashleigh and Lauren having babies. Again not an easy year to go into hospital, so hats off to you.

39.  My mates getting new jobs.

40.  Playing ‘Beat That’ on my birthday.

41.  Cooking a full Sri Lankan meal for the family and seeing them enjoy it.

42.  Going for a walk and buying a coffee.

43.  The Xmas Radio Times coming through the letterbox.

44.  We had a work party in September. It was the first time since my wedding I’d danced in public. The public have been denied that for too long.

45.  Jon Ronson’s Things Fall Apart: a brilliant radio series.

46.  I do like the Radio 4 book of the week: some great ones on Robert Maxwell and Bessie Smith; also Sorrow and Bliss; The Fortnight in September and Harlem Shuffle were great listens.

47.  The Plot Thickens podcast captured the creative failure of The Bonfire of the Vanities in such a compelling way.

48.  The Shrink Next Door was stranger than fiction. It has now been adapted into a TV show that features Will Ferrell, who was once in a film called Stranger Than Fiction.

49.  I read my first graphic novel, Flake. A book about two ice cream men at war.

50.  Andy recommended a podcast On Writing. It’s a great interview series with authors about their craft.

51.  Rodham was the best book I read this year. A supersmart page-turner.

52.  The day I got my new role I bought a round of ice creams from the van that stops opposite our home. Is there any better way to celebrate than a Mr Whippy in one hand and a glass of fizz in the other?

53.  Spending a month learning about Sri Lankan history was enlightening – I appreciate it was only a month though.

54.  Harriet’s scrapbook.

55.  A Baileys at Christmas.

56.  Our bin men (and woman) wave at Kit every Wednesday. He waves at them first. They don’t just actively seek children out.

57.  Although I got rejected by a number of agents to repackage my blog, I’m pleased I gave it a go.

58.  Kieran, the boys and I finished our running challenge in memory of dad and others lost to Covid.

59.  Watford FC kindly let us finish the run there, so we all had a tour of the dressing room: pictures we’ll savour forever.

60.  Visiting Jim, Jen and Loveday in Cornwall.

61.  Despite not going to the Minack Theatre, it was lovely to get up close to it.

62.  Having our child meet our friends’ children.

63.  The Black Swan in Swanage remains our favourite pub.

64.  The first official day of the holidays when we went to the zoo, the sun was out and the summer felt infinite.

65.  Listening to Caitlin Moran on This Cultural Life. I could listen to her for hours.

66.  Season 2 of Louis Theroux’s interview series Grounded was great again.

67.  When Cadbury’s yoghurts are half-price in the supermarket.

68.  My favourite muesli was discontinued but the new muesli that’s replaced it is pretty good.

69.  David Sedaris’ near-the-knuckle humour on Adam Buxton’s podcast.

70.  Being part of a training video at work and leading training sessions. As hard as it, it’s good to take yourself out of your comfort zone.

71.  The sun was recalcitrant in the summer, refusing to leave its room and shows it face, but on the day we scattered dad’s ashes it daytripped to Dorset with us. It was the perfect weather for a perfect man.

72.  My dad’s memorial plot is very beautiful.

73.  The way Kit smiles on a swing.

74.  The way Kit holds my hand when I get in from work.

75.  The way Kit reverses into my lap when he wants a book read to him.

76.  The way Kit dances round the living room to a Spotify playlist.

77.  The way Kit asks for his massive elephant to sleep in his cot.

78.  The way Kit says ‘no’ with such a straight face when he doesn’t want to do something. (This will be less funny next year I’m sure.)

79.  The way Kit gets into bed with us on a Saturday morning to read a book.

80.  The way Kit kisses the picture of my dad every day.

81.  The way Kit is.

82.  I’ve got back into hot chocolate.

83.  Junk food Friday is always a treat: either pizza or burger after a working week.

84.  Meatball Saturday is always good. This isn’t a euphemism. We have meatballs on a Saturday. Again, not a euphemism.

85.  Every Friday we have dinner at my mum’s. Kieran is there too. It’s a lovely way to end the working week: great food and company.

86.  Harriet’s mum Allyson is a great cook.

87.  Harriet’s dad Rod bought me a drill. I like power tools. I might not know how to use them properly, but I do like the power of the thing.

88.  At the end of each half-term, we get takeaway from Spice Lounge. There’s nothing like a naan to see in the weekend. Sure Wayne Rooney feels the same way too. A retro joke there.

89.  Harriet is so creative with Kit. I’m lucky I married a primary school teacher. I’m lucky I married her.

90.  Knowing that Kit is in loving hands when he spends half of the working week with our folks.

91.  Through all the isolations and self-isolations, I’ve spent more time at home with my son. For me, there is some good that’s come out of this.

92.  Promising Young Woman was audacious, bold filmmaking.

93.  Alex Wheatle who inspired Steve McQueen’s Small Axe: Education episode gave a virtual talk to our students. He was truly inspirational.

94.  I read The Giver as part of a school challenge. It’s taught widely in America and Canada but little known here. It’s a great read for young people and one I recommend if you’re a fan of The Truman Show and Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind.

95.  Dwight’s fire drill in the US Office was the funniest thing I saw on TV this year.

96.  Kit getting everyone up on the dance floor at Christmas.

97.  Having our families together this Christmas.

98.  Getting a gift you love whilst having no idea it existed: this year my brother got me a book which had a transcript of interviews between Barack Obama and Bruce Springsteen.

99.  I got my booster today. To the scientists who developed it, the nurses who administer it and the volunteers who facilitate it: thank you.

100.                 I’m optimistic about next year. You have to be, don’t you. As the quote goes, ‘Everything will be ok in the end. If it’s not ok, it’s not the end.’

Reasons to be Cheerful 2020

1. I May Destroy You destroyed. 191 drafts helped create the TV show of the year.
2. With my concentration on the floor and fatigue through the roof, I’ve taken to listening to audiobooks on BBC Sounds. Queenie, Nickle Boys and The Midnight Library were all great. Admittedly abridged, but something is better than nothing.
3. A big pile of washing up and a good podcast on the go.
4. Desert Island Discs with Samantha Morton. An incredible woman.
5. Adam Buxton’s jingles.
6. Where This Service Will Connect on Radio 4 was beautiful. If you like the Before trilogy or Nora Ephron, then you’ll love it.
7. Daisy May Cooper is a national treasure.
8. Motsi crying over Oti winning Strictly. I like seeing siblings that get along. I sometimes ask students in school about older siblings I taught: “What are they doing now?” “They’re at uni.” “Oh, what course?” “Don’t know.” “Which uni?” “Don’t know.” It must take more effort to not know where your brother/sister is living than to know where they are living.
9. Watching the computer game challenge on Taskmaster – an old episode, but we watched it for the first time.
10. In the park on Tuesday a crowd gathered to see a kingfisher. My dad always liked seeing them, so I thought I best take an interest. Harriet saw it immediately. Owing to my poor eyesight, I said, ‘I can’t see it, H.’ A ten-year-old overheard and said, “Come over here, I’ll show you.” I was a bit wary of following a child, but his mum gave me the nod. I still couldn’t see it. I liked the helpfulness of the kid. Sounding a bit Holden Caufield here aren’t I? I’m not going to start crying at a carousel or anything; it’s just nice to see someone young being kind.
11. Biden beating Trump.
12. A vaccine is on the way.
13. The hospital staff that gave my dad dignity.
14. The people in supermarkets who really deserve more credit for working throughout this pandemic.
15. I know that ‘Blinding Lights’ tune by The Weeknd is everywhere but it is pretty great.
16. The jokes about Dominic Cummings.
17. Season 2 of Sex Education.
18. The awe-inspiring athleticism of Cheer.
19. Those final moments of Better Call Saul.
20. Michael Sheen: great bloke, great actor.
21. The Last Dance was an incredible documentary. I watched it in the early hours when Kit was born.
22. Richard Osman’s lockdown quizzes.
23. Zoom: where would we be without it?
24. Louis Theroux’s Grounded. Always does a great interview.
25. Bowie’s ‘Heroes’ in Jojo Rabbit.
26. ‘He’s My Boy’ in Everybody’s Talking About Jamie.
27. Parasite winning Best Picture. ‘Once you overcome the one-inch barrier of subtitles, you will be introduced to so many more amazing films.’ Director Bong Joon Ho nails it.
28. Adam Sandler’s performance in Uncut Gems. He should have been Oscar nominated.
29. Holding Kit for the first time.
30. Introducing him to the seaside.
31. Taking the boy on an old-fashioned steam train.
32. Knowing that he carries my dad’s name.
33. His first smile.
34. How he’s started to clasp our arm when we pick him up.
35. Great Ormand Street have done a fine job in clearing up his eye.
36. When our families held him for the first time.
37. The artwork he does with his mum.
38. The joy he brought to us at Christmas.
39. Harriet: an incredible partner. Dad died at a time when she was nine months pregnant. She supported me at a time when she may have felt fearful about going into hospital alone. She was brilliant during Kit’s birth too. On her own for four nights because of restrictions: she kept her head throughout.
40. I’ll always be grateful to my mum and brother. They took on so much after dad passed, understanding that I had to prioritise the baby.
41. Kieran getting his dream job.
42. After years of thinking of doing a show, I finally did one. I’m so thankful for everyone that came.
43. Dec for making a bit out of theatre out of my stories by accompanying them beautifully on guitar. His way with sound is something really special.
44. All of the thoughtful cards our family received. The words meant a lot.
45. The kindnesses people have shown Kit. The cards and gifts were quite overwhelming.
46. We’ve gone on two short family holidays to Dorset and Norfolk. To get out of the house and go to two lovely places was very fortunate.
47. A hot cup of coffee on a cold, cold day.
48. A ramble with my nearest and dearest.
49. Writing a nice message for someone.
50. I thought Normal People really captured what university was like – apart from the sex bit – that part of uni must have passed me by.
51. My family have been lucky with work this year. No one has been cut loose or furloughed.
52. This year I’ve had to lockdown and self-isolate twice. It does mean I’ve seen my little boy grow up. In the 7 and ½ months, I’ve been at home about 5 of them. It’s like I’ve got the paternity rights of a Scandinavian or something.
53. I say it every year, but I work with really lovely people.
54.  Watford ended the year with a win against top of the leaguers.
55. The documentary I listened to on Bury FC was great. Football can be dismissed but it’s a huge part of a town’s identity and economy – smaller clubs need more support.
56. Jim and Jen on their daughter; Scott and Laura on their son.
57. Rosie and Bruce on having twins. Hats off to you.
58. All the qualities I saw in Harriet have been highlighted as a mum: her silliness, focus, creativity and kindness.
59. The maternity team that looked after us at Luton and Dunstable Hospital.
60. The first Clap for Carers was very moving.
61. My Radio Times subscription. As I’ve said to Harriet, “It’s more than a TV listings magazine. It has interviews, podcast reviews, quizzes and streaming recommendations. The best magazine out there.”
62. Kieran got me a Beer 52 subscription. Eight beers each month and a tasty snack. Delicious.
63. All the time Phil put into designing my brother’s Christmas gift. (https://www.etsy.com/uk/shop/Pegsfootballprints)
64. Mackenzie Crook saying there might be more detectorists.
65. The new jumper I got for Christmas is so warm.
66. The Ranganation and Grayson Perry’s Art Club were perfect formats for socially distanced TV.
67. Just the way Grayson Perry is with members of the public. There’s no ivory tower with him. He is to art what Dickens was to prose: he walks amongst the people.
68. This Country and The Good Place show how you should end a sitcom.
69. Cooking with my earphones on.
70. The message I sent my dad has two blue ticks. Never have ticks meant so much.
71. I put up a mirror, baby monitor and coat rack using my new drill. This achievement satisfies me far more than any qualifications.
72. I was all fingers and thumbs when Kit was first born. I didn’t feel very confident or comfortable. Now, he fits hand in glove. I’ve loved getting to know him.
73. The fact Harriet’s family get on so well with mine. I know how much respect my dad had for them. No, Montague and Capulet war to see here.
74. Bev, Zoe, Jonnie, Fi, Ben and Jim who got new jobs.
75. Clare doing such a good job with Rich in her virtual masterclass.
76. House of Games. I’d go as far to say that it’s my favourite quiz show. Sorry Victoria: love the surreal intros and fiendishly difficult rounds, but it’s all about the Osman.
77. Like him or not, Keir Starmer has made Labour electable. He’s got ice in the freezer, but he does need fire in the belly.
78. I’ve really enjoyed writing my ‘Pram in the Hall’ blog. Thank you to everyone who has read it.
79. Friday evenings.
80. My mum who has shown incredible resilience.
81. My brother getting his new place.
82. Matt starting his career in nursing.
83. Dancing under the Christmas tree to 'Fairytale of New York' with my boy and Harriet..
84. Sarah on qualifying.
85. Sir Michael on Twitter. It’s rare that I cry with laughter, however his post on buying a bucket had me.
86. The first mince pie of the year.
87. Finding the hidden Gruffalo in Julia Donaldson/ Axel Scheffler books.
88. If you want to see what good writing is, you can throw all your Booker Prize novels in the bin. Lynley Dodds’ Hairy McClary books might be aimed at children, but her precision with lexis and rhyme is really something. The Dylan Thomas of children’s literature.
89. We have a buddy system at work where you’re paired up and someone buys you a gift from time to time. Mine has been very generous. The Richard Ayoade book, ‘The Grip of Film’ was a right touch.
90. My year started with my brother gifting me a VIP experience at Watford FC. We had lovely food, a great seat, beat Wolves 2-1 and even received a complimentary programme.  
91. Watford beating Liverpool 3-0 – it seems so long ago.
92. The work Watford FC did during the first wave, effectively giving over the ground to the hospital so staff would have somewhere to eat and rest away from the challenges that were taking place next door. I’m glad I support a community-minded club.
93. The Athletic: I pay a £1 a month for excellent journalism. I don’t pay anything for The Guardian. I guess we should pay more for our media.
94. A cup of tea in my hand, an idea in my head and fingers on the keys. (I’m talking about a laptop. I’m not Fats Domino.)
95. Edgar Wright on Films To Be Buried With. Unbridled enthusiasm for cinema. Let’s hope cinemas make a glorious return next year.
96. I’m still getting paid to talk about books. On the flip side, I’m also teaching subordinate clauses, so it ain’t all roses.
97. Joe Pera dancing to ‘Baba O’Reilly.’
98. I had the most wonderful dad. He gave me a blueprint of what a good dad should look like. I’ll only have myself to blame if I don’t do a good job of it.
99. I am happy. Not as happy as I could be. But if my dad were here I probably wouldn’t have recognised how great I had it. I’m so pleased he knew we were having a little one. I do wish he got to see him though.
100. I’ll leave you on a video of our little Alex Horne.

Kit

On Monday May 11^th at 12.09 pm something changed. A child was born. Not just any child. Kit James Raj. 

He was meant to come earlier. Wednesday, April 29^th. His mother was certain he would come right on the dot. As the clock struck twelve. As the bell tolled midnight. As the date flipped and the diary turned, she was sure he would arrive on time. It did not turn out that way. The days dragged like a teenager with chores; the baby showed no desire to join Boris’ Britain. Why join the fray and isolate behind bricks and mortar when you could do it within flesh and blood?

In the end, he was booked in for an induced labour on Friday, May 8th. I drove Harriet up at 5pm. I could tell she meant business. She was prepared to miss the final week’s episode of House of Games to get this baby out of lockdown into – well – lockdown. Just as Harriet was about to be induced, the contractions started. No problem: nature would take its course. Only nature decided to take a day off. Nay, two days off. The contractions came and went. Fluttered their eye lashes, then ran off. Like some wicked cad in a Jane Austen novel.

Contractions can give you the come on, then scarper - just like Willoughby in Sense and Sensibility

I really felt for Harriet at this point. She had waited for her induction, and now had to wait again. In fact, she has been remarkable since my dad passed away. Not only has she had to carry a baby, but my grief too. Added to this, it hasn’t been possible to have the usual support system going into childbirth. Her friends and family are extraordinary; being denied their physical presence isn’t easy. She’s had just me for company. And I’m good at many things. A whizz round with the hoover. Remembering bin day. My famed chilli con carne. Knowing what’s coming to Netflix. But what I can’t offer is first-hand experience of having had a baby. (Thankfully, the dystopia of men having babies -see Arnold Schwarzenegger’s Junior- has not come to pass.) It must have been tougher not having her mum to give her a reassuring hug.

I went to bed Sunday evening expecting Harriet to be back to square one. Induction, then wait days for Zeus’ thunderbolts. At 5.20am my phone rang. It was my wife telling me that I needed to get ready – the baby was coming. I was dazed and confused. Caught between sleep and dream. Reality wasn’t in my eyeline. I said something about having slept well and asked her if she felt great now her contractions had started. She had the good manners not to say, ‘I’ve been awake for hours. My uterus is a storm. A storm at sea. My back a shipwreck. Dashed against the rocks. My legs? Seasick, vomiting everywhere. But as long as you slept well. As long as your wide awake. Well, that’s just David Bowie Hunky Dory.’

Evidence that the metaphor in the last paragraph is mainly just nicked from this.

I got changed quickly, regretting every word I said. Then, didn’t get called for three hours to go in. Cheeky really. Could have had a few extra hours in bed.

When I arrived I saw the care Harriet was under. Leah, a midwife, and Mala, a student midwife. Although their faces were covered, their kindnesses weren’t. They were reassuring and compassionate throughout. I could only marvel at how quickly the dynamic between the three women changed. One moment they were strangers to Harriet, the next a sorority. A sisterhood working together in tandem to bring life into existence. As for me, I was very much an incidental character in this great human drama. I wasn’t useless. I gave strokes to the arm, water to the lips, words to the ear. But I wasn’t necessary. These women had it covered. The midwives’ commendations and cajoles were magic spells that made pushes possible when they felt impossible. That and Harriet’s grit and determination. Blood, sweat and tears is a sporting cliché. In childbirth it’s a reality. I’ve never been more proud of her fortitude to get our little boy over the line.

The moment of arrival is hugely emotional. The relief of knowing the person you love doesn’t have to push through pain any more, along with the wonder at seeing new beating life in front of you is extraordinary. Kit took to Harriet like a duck to water. I smiled at the beauty of their kinship. Soon I cut the cord and launched our ship off into the world. At this point, a baby doesn’t just belong to his mother but the universe.

Two important people.

After some skin to skin and checks, I held him. My son. My boy. Initially, I was tentative. I’ve held babies before, but I’ve always felt a bit awkward. They seem so fragile that I worry about moving them, disrupting their equilibrium. I moved around positions, then went on a little ramble. I returned to my starting position and proceeded to rock him like Bebeto and Romario in '94. He fell asleep in my arms and I felt like a father. 

*                                                                          *                                                                        *

Two weeks ago, I lost my father. Two weeks later I became one. The first fact affects the second. I’ve made peace with elements of my dad’s passing: his great life; his happy final years; the love he knew we had for him. I find it hard though that he never saw this day. His torch though has been passed on. Kit’s middle name is Raj. They can’t be joined in touch, yet they're knit in name. I’m so grateful to Harriet and the midwives for delivering Kit James Raj into the world. 

Today, the work begins.

Dad

On Sunday evening dad passed away. It appeared at the beginning like mild symptoms, something paracetamol could regulate, water could abate. However, it spiralled into breathlessness and my mum reacted fast, ensuring an ambulance arrived. And with that some of our fears eased. He had never been unwell before. He hadn't been struggling with his breathing for long. A shot of oxygen, a chaser of fluids, a round of antibiotics and he would be right. Unfortunately, this did not work. Treatment was stepped up and with it our worst fears. Each morning we woke praying for good news, but the Gods never answered. After twelve days in hospital, we had to say goodbye.

This will be a piece that will celebrate my dad. This prose will not be shrunk shouldered and head down for long. Later, this writing will right itself, stand tall, head raised, look to the clouds – just like dad did when he went birdwatching. But before I move onto that, I do want to invoke Emily Maitlis’ Newsnight speech from a few weeks ago. The BBC as a publicly funded broadcaster should be impartial, but only up to a point. Her blistering speech typified when it is necessary to debunk lies and throw knowledge to the mast. 

In her opening monologue she said,

‘The language around Covid 19 has sometimes felt trite and misleading. You do not survive the illness through fortitude and strength of character.’

This was delivered in response to Boris Johnson’s political friend, Dominic Raab, asserting how the PM was a ‘fighter’ who would overcome the illness. I’m not angry with him. I’ve said stupid things. I even made jokes about Boris when he was ill (I look pretty stupid now). So many people use the language of war to describe health battles. I think it re-assures us that something can be done, that we’re not flailing in chaos, strung out in riptides beyond our control. The truth is context plays a huge part in survival: age, class, gender, genes, ethnicity are all contributing factors. My dad didn’t lose any battle, nor did the wonderful staff who toiled to keep him alive. It just didn’t happen for him. It tragically wasn't to be. But let it be known: neither he, nor the staff, lost. 

I did say I was going to celebrate dad. This blog is called ‘Reasons to be Cheerful’ and if ever there was a man who embodied a reason to be cheerful then it was dad. Over the course of this piece, I’m going to break from tradition: I’ve written over 250 of these pieces, always about what’s brought me cheer, never considering another’s perspective; well, today I’m going to think about the things that brought him joy and celebrate them with you.

Only Fools and Horses

Dad was a big fan of Derek ‘Del Boy’ Trotter. Unlike Del, dad wasn’t working-class by birth. He was born into a middle-class family: his mum a teacher, his dad a postmaster. However, moving to England in the 70’s meant he started from the bottom. Petrol attendant, security guard, caravan washer were all jobs he had. Like Del, he was aspirational, always scheming, forever dreaming. Dad designed a security door for arcade machines that he had patented – Namco, the arcade giant, invested in them. He also bought a photo processing machine that he installed in a local cornershop (unlike his invention, it didn’t make any money). Sometimes my dad’s investments came up bonnet de douche, other times they sunk like Uncle Albert’s ship; whatever happened, he always felt like a millionaire.

Rob Brydon in St Albans Arena 2009

I took my dad to see this. This was before Brydon started hosting Would I Lie To You? (one of dad’s favourite shows). In all honesty the stand-up was middling. I remember some material about Brydon playing golf with Ronnie Corbett, which was less a routine, more an impersonation. However, where Brydon does excel is crowd-work. This was demonstrated when a punter came back late from the bar. Putting thirst before etiquette, they risked the ire of Brydon. Said punter’s seat was in the front row. 

Most people in this position would make like a greyhound for the chair. This chap, however, made a strange call and decided to do the opposite. Like a nighttime robber, he tiptoed down the aisle as though afraid of arousing the comic’s suspicion. Essentially, the target was waving at their sniper - Brydon never had it so easy. The way he dispatched him though was a thing of beauty. Giddy bullet after giddy bullet was fired at the audience member. But instead of taking it lying down, the chap ran for higher ground: the upper circle. Yes, the man retreated down the aisle, then ran up the stairs, taking refuge behind a pillar. Caught in a blitzkrieg of blind panic, he stayed there whilst Brydon looked up in disbelief. My dad looked at the grown man, positioned beside us, hiding like a child, and collapsed into heaving hysterics. Skin, body, blood and bones had gone missing at this point, dad was comprised of nothing but laughter. I rarely laugh out loud. I'm too self-conscious. Dad could laugh a house down.

Wrangler Jeep

Although many of you may think I am one of two, I’m actually the middle one in our family. My dad’s baby was his Jeep. Dad was made redundant a lot when we were kids. This was no reflection on his work. He would work like a Beatle eight days a week given half a chance. He was just a victim of his employer being bought out or folding into liquidation. My brother and me never felt unemployment at home. Mum and dad protected us from the word, the feel, the throttle of it. And anyway, dad always got a job a few weeks later, meaning he made money from redundancy. He was the one person in Britain who smiles on being told they're being made redundant. With his payout, he bought a £4000 Jeep. It was his pride and joy. He liked nothing better than dropping the roof and feeling the wind in his scalp. All the other kids in school went to prom in a cliche - identikit limo after identikit limo - we went in the Wrangler, Santana riffs blaring, elbows on windowsill, nodding along like we were in a Hip Hop video. Dad laughed like a kid when we pulled up and heads turned. The exuberance of childhood never left him.

His third child.

Photography

Dad was a wonderful photographer. He was beloved by his mates at Camera Club – not just because he made the tea. At any family occasion he would be there poised, camera at hand, ready to document the important moments. Because he took so many pictures, we don’t really have many of him. His inexperience of being photographed was made manifest at my wedding last year. Every picture with him in has his legs crossed, his body slouched, as though he’s bursting for the loo. All the guidance he gave others on how to look and stand are missing. He always was more worried about making others look good, than how he appeared – that was the mark of the man.

Dad took this one.

James Bond

Dad loved James Bond. He was a big fan of gadgets. Each year mum and him would go to their friends at New Year for fancy dress celebrations. He would channel his inner-Q and make a gizmo to support his character. Like a Sri Lankan Blue Peter, he would get out the sticky back plastic and loo rolls and create something that would fire, sparkle or rotate. His attempts to demonstrate his prototype would be sabotaged by peals of laughter - his own. He always found himself very entertaining. What can I say, he was an excellent judge of character.

Dad at Casino Royale Secret Cinema.

John Barnes

I mentioned Del Boy earlier. Uncle Albert’s catchphrase in that sitcom is, ‘During the war …’ My dad’s catchphrase was ‘When John Barnes played for Watford …’ As far as he was concerned our footballing heroes were rubbish. Kieran’s hero of Lars Bohinen (he used to be a Forest fan) and mine of Tommy Mooney meant nothing compared to Barnesy. He was, of course, right. Barnes was an audacious footballer, a master magician, who would show you all the cards, but still find a way of misdirecting you.  His crosses to Luther Blissett catapulted Watford into being one of the country’s best teams. Barnes was both an exuberant showman and supporting presence. Reminds me of someone.

Family

Family was the thing that made my dad most cheerful. He was so proud of my mum for giving her working life to nursing. He was so proud of my self-made brother who went from recording a podcast in his bedroom to working for FIFA. He was so proud of his family in Sri Lanka, Canada and America who worked so hard to achieve prestigious jobs, tough qualifications, loving families. And we were so proud of him. So, so proud.

The family.

Don’t pity our family for losing him, envy us for having him. Always laughing, always smiling, he was something truly special.