62.365: Dad

I remember listening to Radio 4 in the car on the way home from wherever, and sitting in the car outside the house because we were halfway through "I'm Sorry, I Haven't A Clue" or somesuch, and we wanted to hear it til the end.

I remember going to computer fairs and buying bits and pieces and building computers together on the kitchen table.

I remember how every visit to anything had to include a stop for a "cup of tea" which almost always involved cake.

I remember "The Goon Show" re-enacted, voices and all.

I remember sitting on wooden stools in the kitchen until my bum went numb, watching the TV or talking about things.

I remember the flat bottomed handwriting, because he always wrote against a ruler, except near the end, and that shaky, unflat handwriting still breaks my heart.

I remember the stupid Tandy beachball that blew out of my hands on Lossiemouth beach and running into the North Sea after it, afraid I'd get in trouble for losing it. I remember him running after me to stop me from going too deep, and telling me it didn't matter, but that he wished I'd dropped his (unread) copy of the Glasgow Herald before I ran into the water.

I remember having Dr Seuss read to me when I was ill with tonsilitis.

I remember him cooking "proper" fish and chips in batter at home once, when mum went away for a couple of days, and how it felt so rebellious and tasted all the better for it.

I remember him telling me to go live my life and not put everything on hold waiting for him to die.

I remember so much.

I miss him so much.

I can't believe it's been seven years.