Pieces of a father.

My father died in December 1995, when I was four years old, so my memories of him are somewhat hazy and simple. Little snippets of life, like him making funny faces at me as we walked down the high street.
He had about a million horrifying flaws, but at least he could pull a decent funny face and had good taste in music (I remember coming home at age thirteen with my arms full of Alice Cooper albums and my mother said “your dad would be proud”).

The jacket in the picture above is a personal fashion favourite of mine. Look at that fringing! Also, I like to think that I’ve inherited that glorious hair of his.

One of my first memories was watching Bottom (ridiculous Rik Mayall/Adrian Edmondson sitcom which essentially consists of slapstick and sexual innuendo) on the end of my dad’s bed. The sexual jokes went over my head at two years old, but I was happy enough to enjoy men beating each other about the face with frying pans and various other household items.

Inappropriate comedy was the perfect sit-in parent.

We went on holiday to Disneyworld and Sea World in Florida just before he had his fatal heart attack, but the only thing I really remember about the holiday was becoming addicted to Froot Loops. Oh well.

Credits: ashdinosaur

written by ashdinosaur on 2011-06-19