Uncle Frank

We did a flying visit to Manchester again the other day to celebrate my mum and dads 40th anniversary. 40 years is a long time and I’m sure I was not the only one there thinking about what we will be like after 40 years of marriage. What will have changed? 29 years to go until we find out. Who will have divorced, who will have survived, who will be still single. I might have snuffed by then!

The weekend involved eating lots of food and a few tipples for those who could be bothered. Friday night was an Indian take away, Saturday was pub lunch and huge buffet at night and Sunday was the grazing on a Chinese banquet where after a while it all becomes one homogenous mass of sodium mono glutamate that is squeezed into every available cavity in my girth! Actually the food was good and the fact the Chinese community were queuing to eat there was a good indicator that this restraunt was not going to try serving up crap.

Saturday night was the party. All my mum and dads old pals and some new ones turned out. The obligatory old photos were put up and a cheesy disco got the swing going. Most amusing was seeing my Uncle Frank again. He’s not really changed much and is completely bonkers. Quote of the evening when our Sarah told him her and Rob were getting married, was, ‘what both of you’. He blessed us all with his Wirral Honey (4 jars with a sell by date of 2012…just in time for the Olympics). Yes he is a bee keeper. He has always had a thing with dangerous creatures. Burnage used to have a house with a large Alsatian dog that jumped up on its gate whenever you passed. Uncle Frank tried to teach me how to silence it….’what you do is put your hand in its mouth and then open it up and it can’t do anything.’ So he then demonstrated his idea. Unfortunately the 3 seconds it takes to get your hand passed the dogs teeth was not quick enough, and the dog must have thought Christmas had come early with a big hand with sausage fingers being waved in front of him. My other memory of Uncle Franks dangerous antics is when he got me and Steve Pugmire to assist him felling trees in his garden. He survived the chainsaw and home made harness to get to the top of the tree, but the flash burns to his face from using several litres of old petrol to light the fire was almost a killer. The right of his face was a blistering red sore. There is an image of him driving home in the rain with his head sticking out of the window to cool off that will remain with me forever.

Back at the party we did a lot of catching up with people and noted the changes to people. My dad did a low key speech to avoid any embarrassment for my mum. However he soon undid any good he had done by dancing…well of a kind. It was more like rhythmic seizures….including falling down a rolling around on the floor. I could see the medics present looking for their diazepam peccaries until they realised my dad still thought he was 24 and trying to do the Hucklebuck!