I went to my first funeral yesterday.
Alan Mather was my Dad’s best friend. A dinky di bloke who befriended my Irish father on the streets of West London in the early nineteen-seventies.
Their meet-cute was something out of a French new wave film — the brazen bugger stole my Pops girlfriend right out from under him.
Dads reaction? Humbled reverence.
Turns out Alan was irresistible, his charm second to none. Their unlikely bromance would also introduce him to the land Down Under, a place he has called home ever since.
Thank you for being such a good friend to my pops, Al.
Wherever you are, I hope the sun is shining.