Happy Birthday Geoff

My brother Geoff died too young, 39, back in the dismal days of the nineties when we still had dismal TV, appalling internet and Margaret Thatcher roamed the land. Every time I think of him, which seems to be a lot, I dont see the poor wheel chair bound cancer ridden brother whispering to me he could not bear the suffering much longer. I see the brother I conquered dragons with or faced down the countless evil foes that rummaged through our park. I see the skinny kid I stuck in goal so that I could pound footballs at. I see the brother I got drunk with trekked around the country with, suffered exposure with, paraded around London with…see the kid I grew up with.

Then yesterday, his birthday, I realised that if he had lived he would be almost as old as I am now nearly as cranky,  a shade less wise than me 🙂 It was a shock it was an affront to the PeterPan image I have of him.

Either way he is my brother and I miss him terribly.

  1. I only have a few memories of Uncle Geoff (of course he told me not to call him that as it made him feel old) the main one he is very angelic. Very white and clean and bright lots of sun. I may or may not have told you before.