lived a man who sailed to sea

Another weekend, and unfortunately yet another cause for sadness for me and my kin as my Uncle Terry (Grandma's brother) passed away on Saturday at his York home. The cause of death has been determined as an Heart Attack, furthering the inevitability that I too shall leave my mortal coil at some point in the future (hopefully another 50 years or so) due to the hereditary heart problems both sides of my family suffer from. Either that or the hereditary cancer which also blights our family.

Without wishing to sound too morbid, or make light of yet another onion in the ointment, but I feel the sword of Damocles dangling above my head. I really ought to cut down on the cholesterol riddled cheese I consume on a daily basis and perhaps take the clothes off our exercise bike and put it to good use. This could be a fitting epitaph for me "we told him that the cheddar would kill him, but would he give it up?"

As planned I paid a visit to my mother yesterday at my Grandparent's abode and as you would imagine it was a sombre yet philosophical mood which greeted me when I arrived around 12ish. My poor grandparents have really had a rough few months of late-as we all have and this was certainly the last thing they, or any of us needed.

I can only ever recollect seeing my Uncle Terry at Weddings/Family functions, which when I was young was a very frequent occurrence, and he was always very funny and the life and soul. He also enjoyed a drink, and I remember chatting to him at my nana’s wake, re-introducing myself -not having seen him for about ten years. He was alarmed and surprised to see a 22 year old man before him with stubble and a paunch, and when I told him that the big lump stood next to me was Adam, he had a great comic facial reaction -the equivalent of a "F*** me!!!!". He insisted on buying us both a drink, and looked at me with incredible disappointment when I requested a pint of larger rather than a traditional pint of bitter. He told us he couldn't stand the stuff after a particular Christmas Eve when he consumed in excess of 12 pints of the fizzy beer, and the following Christmas day he was so rough he spent most of it in bed nursing a hangover from hell. His wife, Auntie Pam remembered this with a smile on her face. I remember this especially, as I thought of the trouble one would get into with one's wife/partner/Family should this occur. My mum always regaled stories of how Uncle Terry could down a pint in less than two seconds, I guess this act of heroics inspired Adam's record breaking Steinlar guzzling at the Harrogate Arms years later. He also had a tattoo on his forearm of a swallow which had long since started to fade and be concealed by the fair hair which grewupon his arm. Unlike today, tattoos were not a common sight so they always interested me; Uncle Brian's and Uncle Gary's especially. Notably, he and Auntie Pam were the first to send a card to my mum when she was admitted to Hospital recently.

The journeys back and forth to my Grandparents were particularly dull. The lack of radio in my automobile is starting to have its effects on me and my mental state. The only noise to accompany me on the journey is the whistling of the air vents/heater and the extremely noisy rear windscreen wiper. After about an hour of driving the car's noises start to resemble songs and conversation. After another half hour I start to argue with it. By the time I arrive at my Grandparent’s idyllic village, the car and I are no longer on speaking terms. On route home, we had made up and I shly sang at my car's request. I don't know the words to many songs, so it was a poor performance but the car acknowledged my valiant efforts and duly reward me by powering me home at great speeds. The car especially loved my rendition 'The Yellow Submarine' which was sang with gusto and featured sound effects and an sloppy impression of Sir Ringo Starr. This tired me out and when I arrived home I was spent and my throat hurt.
The M62 late at night can do strange things to a man.