Tuesday, 20 May 2014

Three men and a bridge.

My dad is 68 and the youngest of four brothers.
Spread far and wide across the UK, for the past 12 years at least three of them have met up each and every year in a caravan.
They put the world to rights, wallow in nostalgia and chase up obscure lines of the family tree.
Walking plays a big part, big spending less so.
And the wardrobe never changes.
Shorts and red trousers feature prominently.

It took a funeral to bring them back into regular contact, and it's very touching.
And a reminder of how fast time goes.

Sadly I will never have the same bond with my brother and sister; we drifted apart a very long time ago, which is why this bond is so special.

No comments:

Post a Comment