Today is fathers day, never really meant much to me seeing as mine buggered off when i was 12. If I'm honest it always stoked up that little bit of resentment towards people who had nice normal fathers and celebrated theirs. Not that i have deep rooted anger issues of course, i mean it's not as if I've ever been barred from Yoga is it?
After noticing posts on Facebook about everyone giving shouts out to their fathers. (Strange really isn't it, i mean in the old days a card, a direct call and face to face was the usual mode of communication to a father on Fathers day, so why the fuck post it publicly to hundreds of people not to the one it is aimed at, as if they give a fuck?)
So i decided to join the masses and do my own post to my late but not so great Father, David Michael Evans. In honour of him i decided to do a load of DIY, badly, some dodgy electrics, fart constantly, say 'fucking arseholes' alot, drive a ford cortina and wear my trousers low below my gut and show off 2 inches of arse cleft. Oh and of course slide into full blown alcoholism, drink the family house away, leave, end up a street drunk and die from massive alcoholic hemorrhage. Harsh but true hey.
Didn't see many of those posts on Facebook. But i still olve him. RIP.
The day was spent with my Nan at the hospice. She is bad today after a surprising rally yesterday. She is failing fast. God bless her. My lovely neice visited from London and my Nan was able to see her engagement ring. One life ending and new one beginning, that was human nature and life right there in that moment, i was so pleased to witness it and write it. These small moments are missed so often and to me it seemed symbolic.
What was funny is all 3 females nurses were on duty, Got on their good books by buying them quality street yesterday. They all think i look like Beckham so i get an easy ride and they have been amazing with Nan. Anyway i introduced them to my Neice and said she's just got engaged. Queue in unison a collective high pitched 'ooohhhhhh' from the trio, Like some Welsh maternal choir. Therewarthen lovely.
We went out for lunch, at the golf club and caught up. Then it was back to Brymoor Road for a family meeting. No more to be said on that subject, suffice to say yesterdays international news was high on the agenda and then back up to the hospice to see Nan.
She was sleeping mostly and speaking very quietly when she could muster the energy. 7 days without food and hardly any water. The Nurses said she is still trying to walk and fight, but we tried to tell her to stop fighting and give up. It's not in her DNA though. She is super tough and spirited.
My Uncle Ken (and those on it there, indeed yes yes indeed) told me my new favourite story about Nan. It was 4 years ago, when she fell after trying to rush to get the phone. She broke her tibula and lay on the floor for around an hour before my Uncle showed up. He picked her up, put her in the chair, could see she had broken a bone and said i'll phone the doctor and ambulance. To which she replied "No, don't fuss. Get me a cup of tea and put me to bed." Fuck me, how tough!!!!!
SAS and special forces are not as tough as her. Stuart 'psycho' Pearce once tried to play on with a broken leg but he's got fuck all on me Nan. Cup of tea and bed. My god i can only dream of such a high pain threshold. I get a pain in my gonad and I've got Cancer of the nuts. #hardcorenan.
I sat with her for a while, along with my Uncle and Mum. Shame i didn't sit on my own with her quietly. But i kissed her, told her i loved her and then left. I wondered if it was the last time i would see her and left to go back to London with a heavy heart and memories running through my mind.
I was reluctant to leave, but those business cards aren't going to proof themselves are they.
I've got real mans work to do.
PS - Dear Dad, you are not forgotten, i know you;re dead and everything and ghosts or spirits don't do blogs and Facebook. I know that i am now posting a generic message through social media and it is totally pointless but i don't have Gods twitter or email. I just wanted to say you never liked fathers day as all you got was a shit pair of socks, when all you really wanted was Whisky. I forgive and remember you. Always. And there are millions of kids down here on earth remembering their fathers today who are not with them. You were only human like the rest of us but please Dad, if you do come back to life as something else, try not to leave such heavy skids in your underpants. They were fucking militant
xx
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