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'My Corduroyed Life' - Mark A's Journal
I attended his funeral on Wednesday...
Please don't think that this is going to be a morbid and maudlin blog about my grief: it isn't. As a practicing (devout?) atheist, I see funerals as a positive thing, and a celebration of a person's life. I listen to and appreciate the priest's kind words about the person, and then switch off when he does the religious bit. Sure, I cried earlier on, but I smiled a lot more afterwards, thinking about the wonderful person that Bert Brown was.
He was my Great Uncle Bert and my great Uncle Bert: the older brother of my grandfather, who happened to be great! The last of a generation, and a wonderful, wonderful person. Just by being himself, he was one of the most adorable people you were ever likely to have met. A brutally honest, razor sharp witted, intelligent, caring, gentle, lovable, friendly jack the lad with one of the best senses of humour I've ever seen in a person... and an insatiable adoration of cakes.
He was a very special person, and I feel this special person deserves an entry on my blog. I am going to celebrate his life with some happy Uncle Bert memories and stories...
I remember that, every time he came round to my grandparents when we were little, he'd always have a jam tart. When offered a second, he'd always decline... but we all knew he'd always have it in the end.
I remember how his life had been spent as a driver both in the army and in regular life, and how he loved his car and driving, and how he gave that car to me when his eyesight got too weak.
I remember how he immediately said 'bollocks' to cruel fate and old age, and immediately used the 'Ring and Ride' service to its full potential after losing his car.
I remember how he'd slag people off when they were in earshot, and simply not care... And it was always what everyone wanted to say, but didn't have the guts to do so.
I remember how he was repeatedly told by relatives to not hide money in the mattress, but did so with hundreds and hundreds (maybe thousands) of pounds.
I remember how he and my Grandpa bickered just like David and I do.
I remember how he and my Grandpa competed just like David and I do.
I remember how he and my Grandpa loved each other so much that you can't explain it adequately just like David and I do.
I remember David and I being compared to Uncle Bert and Grandpa, and feeling honoured.
I remember how he cried silently and in a dignified manner at my Grandpa's funeral, and I wonder if I'd have the strength to do that if I ever lost David.
I remember when I was at Uni, and was doing a project on local accents, and I asked him to help me with local pronunciations, and slang. Despite being well into his eighties, he came up with corkers like 'yead' and 'bonce' (head), 'saft' (stupid), 'ay' (am not), 'yam' (you are), 'Ar' (yes), and he helped me get a great grade in that project.
I remember his indignation when served chicken three days in a row in hospital:
"If they gives me another bluddy chicken, ah'll throw it at 'em!"
"Ah day blieve i'! I had chicken, then I 'ad chicken, and on the third day, they gives me another bluddy chicken, an' ah says to em, ah says: 'not another bluddy chicken'!"
"If ah sees another chicken in me life, I'll bluddy kill it!"
I remember him bollocking nurses when they did something stupid, but being sweet as pie when they treated him right.
I remember his gleeful and boyish disregard for his diabetes if he could ever get away with it.
(Paraphrased from a story by Bert)
Doctor: "Bert! Your blood sugar has rocketed!"
Bert: "Ah know."
Doctor: "Why's it like this?"
Bert: "Cos I 'ad a downut."
Doctor: "A donut?"
Bert: "Ar."
Doctor: "Why did you have a donut?"
Bert: "Cos ah wanted wun."
Doctor: "You shouldn't have donuts."
Bert: "Ah know."
Doctor: "Who bought you a donut?"
Bert: "Our Lily."
Doctor: "Why did she do that?"
Bert: "Cos ah asked 'er to."
([grin] I can just imagine the poor quack trying not to get frustrated, and deadpan Bert loving every minute, but keeping a straight face)
Doctor: "Have you got any left?"
Bert: "Ar. Wun."
Doctor: "You're not going to eat it are you?"
Bert: "I am."
Doctor: "But..."
Bert: "Ah don' wanna wastit... it'll goo stale if ah don' eat it."
&c
I remember him being the heartthrob in his retirement home which was populated by only him and women. I remember ragging him about it too.
I remember pushing him round a park about a month ago, and him being on top form, laughing and joking and being the Uncle Bert I'd always known and loved. And you know what, I'm glad that that is my last memory of a truly wonderful person that I will never forget.
I'll miss you Bert, and I'll never forget you...
Mark
Current mood:
nostalgic.Current music: Pia Jesu.
Okay, this is the last one of these I’ll ever do…
As with most sequels: the second is passable, and the third a tragic mess riding on the rep of the previous ones. This blog idea, I’m afraid, appears to have followed this trend. As such, this franchise is over.
From now on, the crappo little blogs will just be simply that: crappo little blogs, not a collection of…
Have fun,
M
***
Cock
Amusing…
I am currently reading Talking Cock by Richard Herring, which is basically a comedy version on The Vagina Monologues, but about willies.
Of course, when one is reading a book called Talking Cock, a certain word will be on the cover:
COCK
is proclaimed in huge letters on the front of the thing. Am I loving the fact I’m shocking people by sitting on buses/ trains with
COCK
on the front in huge letters? You betcha!!!!
***
Mr Timetable
Hmmmm…
I am regularly mocked for using the electronic diary in my pretty mobile. But I don’t care! I hate letting people down and ‘double booking’ things, and my diary helps me stop doing this. It has earned me the nickname ‘Mr Timetable’ which I think is a little unfair – I’d much prefer to be called ‘Mr Organised’ or summat.
However, even I’ll admit that my latest thing, the usage of the task list on me mobile to store blog ideas, is possibly a bit OTT…
***
’Fabulous’ T Shirts
Or possibly my quest to get queer bashed…
Recently, my mates Huw and Laura presented me with a present that they’d made for me: a bright yellow T Shirt with ‘SUICIDE BUMMER’ written on the front. They’d invested in some fabric pens you see. As previously mentioned, one of my leaving presents from Careers was a T Shirt with ‘F**K ME!’ written on the front.
This got me thinking:
friends with fabric pens + camp silly me = lots of daft gay T Shirts.
As such, I have commissioned the following:
‘Wrong’ (Red T)
‘Isn’t It Obvious?!’ (Pink T)
‘Wham, Bam, Thank you, Mister’ (Cream T)
CNUT (Cream T)
‘POO’ (Brown T)
‘Don’t make me queeny. You wouldn’t like me when I’m queeny.’ (Turquoise T)
I am also tempted to get a T-Shirt with ‘Mark’ on the front.
Yay! Homemade T Shirts!
***
'My Corduroyed Life'
Look at the top of the blog…
As the more observant regular visitor here may have noticed before, my blog is now called 'My Corduroyed Life'. This was a suggestion by my friend Paul who is aware of my affection for corduroy. Seeing as more often that not I am wearing corduroy, and that I think it has a nice ring, I thought ‘what the hell?’.
***
Current mood:
okay.Current music: I Wanna Dance With Somebody by Donna Summer (I hate radios!).