Eulogy

In many regards my dad and I could not have been more dissimilar. My dad, it would seem, was a man that could turn his hand to anything. His mind eternally consumed with thoughts of his next invention. It was commonplace for him to disappear halfway through Tomorrow’s World, The Royal Institution Christmas lectures or indeed Blue Peter – as a new thought exploded in his mind. The noises that emerged from his garage, in the following hours –the bubbling of chemicals, grinding of his lathe and that goddam air compressor were a source of constant irritation to the my mum, Janet and I, as we tried to keep up with Deidre Barlow, Bet Lynch and Rita Fairclough’s latest love affairs on Coronation Street , “Macolm, shut that bloody garage door, it’s freezing in here and I can’t hear the telly became my mum’s mantra.


I, on the other hand feel a great sense of achievement if I manage to screw a light bulb into its socket, and have been known to give up on this task on more than one occasion. My mum constantly urged me to go and watch my dad in action, “go on love, you learn by watching, how do you think you dad learnt. I sometimes followed her advice but it always ended in disaster. My interest never lasted beyond 5 minutes, before my mind would wander and my dad was left speaking to himself. Eventually, he would shake his head in disbelief, at the heir to his throne’s gross incompetence. My role in the family business was to make him cups of coffee (which usually went cold).


Then again, there are many of my dad’s characteristics which I share. My love of the simple things in life, our extreme curiosity for everything and our mildly eccentric behaviour (mildly – who am I kidding?). Most of all, I have my dad to thank for the humorous way that I perceive the world. My dad was funny, a source of constant amusement to all those that knew him. Oh yeah, one other thing, his element of surprise. You never really knew what you were going to get with my dad – be it a Timothy Mouse story under the covers at midnight, a new puppy after a visit to a factory – or for his biggest trick – a new sister popped out of his hat – and we are grateful for her.
I could literally tell you hundreds of stories to exemplify all of his many characteristics and I really wish that I had the time – instead, I have narrowed it down to one tale, which I am going to share with you now.


It was a cold winters night in 1990. My friend Chris and I were on a double date and we decided to take them to the Waterside Inn in Summerseat. At the time I was driving a mini and on the way home I had my first puncture ever. I got out of the car, surveyed the damage and then quickly got back in again because it was bloody freezing. I informed my mate and the girls of the situation and of course this was met by a hostile reception.


Fortunately, there was a working telephone box nearby and I was able to ring my parents – who I hasten to add, were sleeping,
“Dad, I’ve had a puncture”, I nervously told him.
“Well bloody fix it then”, came his reply.


“I can’t”, I meekly responded.
“Why, have you not got a jack”? He spat back at me.


Thankfully, he had now given me an excuse for my futile behaviour.
“No dad, I have no jack”, I excitedly responded. To which he replied.


“Right, we’re coming, and if I get there and find a jack, I’ll bloody marmalise you”.
Marmalisation was always his favoured punishment, although we never actually did find out what it actually was.


With haste, I returned to the car, my teeth chattering in the cold night air. Of course, the girls were whining when I told them that we would have to wait for 30 minutes for them to arrive.


Quite, how it never occurred to me to actually search for a jack, it is hard for me to comprehend now. But if I would have found one, I guess that I would have thrown it in the bushes. When my dad opened the boot and the first thing that he saw was the jack – I wish that I had have done.


Rightfully, my dad was fuming and immediately ordered us all out of the car, much to the disdain of the girls.


“Right, now bloody watch this – I’ll show you once and once only”.


“Right dad”, I said, knowing full well that my level of concentration would only last for the first 30 seconds. With haste, my dad took off the offending wheel and replaced it with the spare.


But wait, what was he doing, he appeared to be taking it back off again.


“What’s he doing”? Screamed one of the girls- to which I repled.


“I think he’s taking it back off again”.


My mum, oblivious to my dad’s intentions, said


“Malc, what are you doing”.


To which, my dad responded.


“If he bloody watched me, he’ll know what to do. Kath, get in the car”.


I’ll never forget my mum’s anxious face, as they drove off into the dark, cold January, Lancashire night –leaving behind 4 disbelieving figures and a car which had only 3 functioning wheels.


Anyway, to cut a long a little bit shorter. Put the wheel back on I did, and after that night I took great pride in changing many a puncture. I even get excited these days when I get one.


If you need a light bulb or a tyre changing, I’m your man. Although, the moral of this story has been lost on me. My current car, has no jack and I’ve known about this for years. Dad, close your ears.
In many regards my dad and I could not have been more dissimilar. My dad, it would seem, was a man that could turn his hand to anything. His mind eternally consumed with thoughts of his next invention. It was commonplace for him to disappear halfway through Tomorrow’s World, The Royal Institution Christmas lectures or indeed Blue Peter – as a new thought exploded in his mind. The noises that emerged from his garage, in the following hours –the bubbling of chemicals, grinding of his lathe and that goddam air compressor were a source of constant irritation to the my mum, Janet and I, as we tried to keep up with Deidre Barlow, Bet Lynch and Rita Fairclough’s latest love affairs on Coronation Street , “Macolm, shut that bloody garage door, it’s freezing in here and I can’t hear the telly became my mum’s mantra.


I, on the other hand feel a great sense of achievement if I manage to screw a light bulb into its socket, and have been known to give up on this task on more than one occasion. My mum constantly urged me to go and watch my dad in action, “go on love, you learn by watching, how do you think you dad learnt. I sometimes followed her advice but it always ended in disaster. My interest never lasted beyond 5 minutes, before my mind would wander and my dad was left speaking to himself. Eventually, he would shake his head in disbelief, at the heir to his throne’s gross incompetence. My role in the family business was to make him cups of coffee (which usually went cold).


Then again, there are many of my dad’s characteristics which I share. My love of the simple things in life, our extreme curiosity for everything and our mildly eccentric behaviour (mildly – who am I kidding?). Most of all, I have my dad to thank for the humorous way that I perceive the world. My dad was funny, a source of constant amusement to all those that knew him. Oh yeah, one other thing, his element of surprise. You never really knew what you were going to get with my dad – be it a Timothy Mouse story under the covers at midnight, a new puppy after a visit to a factory – or for his biggest trick – a new sister popped out of his hat – and we are grateful for her.
I could literally tell you hundreds of stories to exemplify all of his many characteristics and I really wish that I had the time – instead, I have narrowed it down to one tale, which I am going to share with you now.


It was a cold winters night in 1990. My friend Chris and I were on a double date and we decided to take them to the Waterside Inn in Summerseat. At the time I was driving a mini and on the way home I had my first puncture ever. I got out of the car, surveyed the damage and then quickly got back in again because it was bloody freezing. I informed my mate and the girls of the situation and of course this was met by a hostile reception.


Fortunately, there was a working telephone box nearby and I was able to ring my parents – who I hasten to add, were sleeping,
“Dad, I’ve had a puncture”, I nervously told him.
“Well bloody fix it then”, came his reply.


“I can’t”, I meekly responded.
“Why, have you not got a jack”? He spat back at me.


Thankfully, he had now given me an excuse for my futile behaviour.
“No dad, I have no jack”, I excitedly responded. To which he replied.


“Right, we’re coming, and if I get there and find a jack, I’ll bloody marmalise you”.
Marmalisation was always his favoured punishment, although we never actually did find out what it actually was.


With haste, I returned to the car, my teeth chattering in the cold night air. Of course, the girls were whining when I told them that we would have to wait for 30 minutes for them to arrive.


Quite, how it never occurred to me to actually search for a jack, it is hard for me to comprehend now. But if I would have found one, I guess that I would have thrown it in the bushes. When my dad opened the boot and the first thing that he saw was the jack – I wish that I had have done.


Rightfully, my dad was fuming and immediately ordered us all out of the car, much to the disdain of the girls.


“Right, now bloody watch this – I’ll show you once and once only”.


“Right dad”, I said, knowing full well that my level of concentration would only last for the first 30 seconds. With haste, my dad took off the offending wheel and replaced it with the spare.


But wait, what was he doing, he appeared to be taking it back off again.


“What’s he doing”? Screamed one of the girls- to which I repled.


“I think he’s taking it back off again”.


My mum, oblivious to my dad’s intentions, said


“Malc, what are you doing”.


To which, my dad responded.


“If he bloody watched me, he’ll know what to do. Kath, get in the car”.


I’ll never forget my mum’s anxious face, as they drove off into the dark, cold January, Lancashire night –leaving behind 4 disbelieving figures and a car which had only 3 functioning wheels.


Anyway, to cut a long a little bit shorter. Put the wheel back on I did, and after that night I took great pride in changing many a puncture. I even get excited these days when I get one.


If you need a light bulb or a tyre changing, I’m your man. Although, the moral of this story has been lost on me. My current car, has no jack and I’ve known about this for years. Dad, close your ears.