On Being An Orphan

On Sunday 6 July I became an orphan - at the age of 58.

My 95-year old dad (that's him in the photo taken sometime during the late 1960s in his local) finally gave in to the inevitability of growing older around tea-time, sitting by his bed in a residential home. I spoke to his GP after his death who said he would be putting "frailty of old age" as the cause of death. For the past few weeks he had been surviving on nothing more than ice cream, ensure - and beer. Sounds about right to me.

In a way, this is fitting as the only real interest he had in life was playing darts which, of course, involved spending a lot of time in pubs. He was a very good darts player in his time and won many awards but in the process also retained his love of the amber nectar - and who could blame him as he was the product of his generation I guess.

So long dad. And cheers!
telum ludus victor