I wrote this a few months ago, I had planned on posting it but never did. I think, if I’m being honest, I was just done with funerals and death and dark questions around WHY certain people died. Alan’s funeral was on 30th June this year.
But I realise now that I should still share it, because the more we talk about grief, the more we can bring it out into the light and make it less scary, it might help us all cope a little easier from day to day.
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My best mate’s husband passed away a couple of weeks ago, his funeral was on Monday. He was 50. Cancer can fuck right off.
The day was marked as a celebration and we were requested to wear colourful outfits so I managed to source a wonderful Hawaiian shirt featuring pages from the first Superman comic book. Very Alan, well the comic book part, he was far too stylish to actually wear something like that but I think he would’ve enjoyed it.
He always had a kind word, always noticed little things like that, would comment on a new t-shirt, or new shoes, with a smile. He had so much love for others.
I saw him a couple of weeks before he died, he was, as he always was, in good spirits, laughing off his ailments and asking after me and Becca and Jack. He was selfless that way, always a good listener, a thoughtful man, but quick to disarm with lightning wit and cheeky sarcasm. He was the type of person you instantly liked, because no matter how you found him he was just fun to be around.
The tributes to him on Monday highlighted all that and more. As someone who at times has struggled to understand what type of person I am, it was telling that Alan’s authenticity is what shone through, he was who he was and was consistent with it throughout his life from childhood to his later life.
I was lucky enough to be his husband Stuart’s best man for their wedding (still one of my fav weddings, what a great day that was!), and have been blessed to know Alan and feel his love and support when I was going through my own dark times over the past year. He is gone far too soon but there are many wonderful fun memories to hold close.
Grief is such an odd thing, losing my Mum and sister in quick succession has put an odd light on Alan’s death. I don’t like that but I can’t really control it.
I know that Stuart, my best friend, will struggle without him. Even though they’ve had time to adjust to this happening it’s still no preparation at all, how do you really prepare for losing your partner, the love of your life? I can barely imagine it.
And while I know that the grief will get easier, I also know it will sit with him for a long time. Past the first anniversaries of things ‘since Alan passed’ and beyond. It will pop up and shake him at the oddest times, a tiny trigger is all it will take.
I know this because I had such grand plans to use Uncle Alan to help educate Jack on comic books and pop culture. I will do my best regardless, but even now when Jack plays with the toys that Stuart and Alan bought for his Christmas last year (a batman car) I can’t help but feel the maudlin effect of death in the room.
But there is so much to remember about Alan that makes me smile, so many things I absolutely and definitely will NOT be repeating here (did I mention his filthy mind?), and memories I will cherish. Gone far too soon, but he will be remembered for a lifetime.
Category: Personal Musings
Posts about me
Saying goodbye to Alan
What kind of man?
As a chronic over thinker (much of which I’ve inflicted on you here, dear reader) it’s fair to say that how to be a good father and how to set a good example to my son, are major topics in my brain on any given day. I replay moments wondering how to do better next time, I store away the successes with the hope I can repeat them and embed the behaviours. I don’t want to create my son in my own image, but I want him to have every chance to discover himself and, as long as he’s not a dick, that should be a good start.
But there is so much more to these things these days, nuance is something the internet struggles with, critical thinking seems to be absent in many places, and men seem to have been swept along and divide along class/education lines. My son is 4, I have time, but what will his future look like? What challenges will he face that I can help him prepare for?
I’ve written many words on this topic already, and have many more in my head but, for now, I’ll share this video (brought to me by the excellent Dense Discovery newsletter to which you really should subscribe) about what it may be like for many men these days, and the dangers that lie online, ones my son may face in the future.
To quote Kai from his newsletter (and sub quote the presenter of the video below), the final sentence is the one that drove me to watch the whole thing:
I loved (and can attest to) this observation Reeves makes about how men communicate:“One of the things we know is that men communicate more comfortably with each other shoulder to shoulder, as opposed to face to face. When men are face to face with each other, that’s quite a threatening position. Now, if I tell you this, you won’t be able to unsee it. If you want to communicate with young men, go fishing, go for a drive, go for a hike.”
And I like that he acknowledges these differences without pathologising them: “You could roll your eyes at that and just say, ‘Oh, what’s wrong with men?’ But we have to be really careful not to treat men like defective women, or vice versa.”
That last sentence speaks to me, the feminising of emotional care is rife. As a man, you should be able to handle your emotions, to speak of them is weak, and it’s subtle and it’s everywhere, and the ‘alpha males’ start to grow, broken, weak men that claim to be superior to others. I know my son won’t be one of them, but my generation is still in the trenches on this stuff. Some of us are fighting our way out, but far too many are still there and whilst it may be a ‘male’ view to use war as a metaphor, I don’t think it’s understating how serious this is. Look at how the world is playing out, the first vestiges of this are written large, the next generation of men need to change it and we need to equip them.
Systemised Unspending
Many years ago I downsized where I lived, I got rid (sold/donated/trashed) a lot of stuff and, for the most part, I’ve not missed any of it.
Since then I’ve built up more stuff again but with a slightly different slant and I’m confident that I don’t have the same volume, and the things I do have are better considered and, because I’m a geek, I’ve got my own little ‘system’ to help me maintain this moving forward.
For a while now I’ve used Amazon as a place to hold a list of things I might buy. I add them to my basket and then save them for later (this way means I get notice of price drops/rises).
It has helped me stop buying stuff on a whim. Mostly for smaller cheaper purchases as anything of value I tend to do some research on. Define value, you say?
Well, as an example, we are thinking about buying a telescope to take with us when we are away in Vera (our motorhome). The market is full of lots of different options and wildly varying capabilities and price, so I’ve done some research and narrowed it down to one that isn’t too expensive (£80) and has the capability of star and planet gazing, and maybe a nebula or two if we are lucky.
And as we spend a lot of time outdoors with Jack, I’m going to invest in a decent pair of binoculars and my research suggests £100 is a reasonable budget for something small enough for a backpack but with enough magnification to be fun to use.
A shorter USB-C cable doesn’t really rate research but I’ll still ‘hold that thought’ and delay buying it.
After my monthly payday I then have a decision to make, do I empty that list or not? How urgent are any of the purchases, how much would the total be and what other outgoings do we have coming up.
It’s taken me a long time to get to this point but I’ve stuck to this approach throughout 2025 and, building on that, it’s also allowed me to step away from Amazon for a lot of online purchases. Amazon is just a tool that I use (and the price tracking is useful) but often I can find the exact same item at a non-global (evil) corporation for the same price, and even if it’s a little more I don’t mind paying that to a small business, it’s not like Amazon needs my money.
Of course this is the equivalent of pissing in the ocean, but it keeps me feeling better about myself and, while I still do purchase some things from Amazon, at least this way I’m not blind buying out of habit.
Top tip: NOT having Amazon Prime usually adds another £5 postage which is yet more friction ahead of the purchase.
I’ve tried various ways to manage my online purchasing – I’ve already cracked the desire to buy items in-person for the most part, largely by remembering that that means interacting with ‘people’ – I’ve used wishlist services, notes, even a reminders list, but right now my current ‘system’ (ugh) is working for me.
More recently, I’ve started to incorporate Vinted into that flow. Still mostly for clothes and shoes, it’s been useful for us getting things for Jack, and I’d much rather buy secondhand if I can, plus it’s usually a LOT cheaper and if you are savvy you can get some great deals – for example I have a pair of Hoka trainers (I have wide flat feet and they’ve been a godsend) which I got for £35. They arrived in. very good condition, worn a few times but no damage or usage was apparent. Normally these retail at £100 and up!
And I use their favouriting system to tag things I am interested in, fully aware that for the most part I have no NEED for new clothes until the ones I’ve currently got start to fail. I do allow myself a little more leeway in terms of buying things on Vinted because, frankly, the world is a shitshow so a new pair of brightly coloured trainers helps lighten MY mood every time I put them on. Hey, these are the ways we cope.
I’m happy that this is all helping me think smarter about my money; not just spending for the sake of it, of being rational and thoughtful about how and where I spend my money and while I’m not claiming to be the best at this – Amazon still sees too much of my money as sometimes convenience will win – I’m definitely better at it than I have been in the past.
So, yes I have a system, no it’s not flawless, and to be specific the system works just fine but I AM the flaw (Judge Dredd fans out there, I’m sorry!).
How do you manage your impulse buy urges?
Missing Mumsie
It all started with The Crystal Maze on Channel 4.
It was 1990, and we only had four TV channels to choose from and The Crystal Maze was a fun game show. In it, the host (Richard O’Brien) would take the contestants through different zones, and they’d have to partake in different categories of games; Mental, Mystery, Physical, or Skill. One of the zones (Medieval I think) took the contestants to a fortune teller who would give them a brain teaser to solve, Richard O’Brien referred to this fortune teller as Mumsie.
I’m not really sure why it stuck but it did.
She would’ve been 80 today. My Mum that is, not the fortune teller from The Crystal Maze.
It’s almost a year since she passed, suddenly but peacefully in her sleep. I think about her most days, always in the guise of either wanting to ask her a question, or wanting to share the latest exploits of her grandson. I think about my Dad that way too, we really should spend more time with the people we love.
I’m not sure what we would’ve done for Mum’s birthday, and even writing that sentence reminds me that there is no ‘we’ anymore either. Just me. But we’d have marked the occasion somehow, birthday cake, maybe a wee trip to her favourite garden centre/cafe/farm shop, and more than likely some simple presents, a nice candle, a new cosy jumper, that kind of thing.
Oh and if I could’ve I’d have bought some form of poo emoji item because Mum hated (and as she always said, hate is a strong word) the word ‘jobbie’.
I miss my Mum, I miss her intellect, her wit and sense of humour. I miss her advice, I miss seeing her watching her grandchildren play, and beyond that I miss the Mum from my childhood who, despite her occasional moods (now better understood by me as depression), was always there for me, always encouraging me, always supporting me, always pushing me to be better, challenging me gently to make sure I wasn’t taking the easy route too often.
And if nothing else she’s left me one final challenge; Make sure I make it to 80 years old.
Love you Mumsie.
Songs that last
Both my parents were musicians, my Dad played guitar and banjo (and one appeared in his folk band on the same bill as The Corries), my Mum played the piano, both sang in local and national choirs; vague recollections of my Uncle conducting them both in Paisley Cathedral for a performance of Handel’s Messiah, a piece that still evokes rich memories. I can’t remember a time when we didn’t have an upright piano in the living room (on which I learned to play) or when there wasn’t music of some form playing from some part of the house.
Music was a constant theme of my childhood; Sunday mornings my Dad with the Sunday broadsheets, classical music on the stereo in the living room. Car rides with Status Quo, Neil Sedaka, Barry Manilow. My discovery of my Mum’s Beatle LPs (and fan club single!). Walking into the kitchen to hear Guns N Roses Appetite for Destruction on the cassette player, Dad thoroughly enjoying it – he’d heard the kids at his school mention it and thought he’d check it out, blew my 14 year old mind and I quickly ‘borrowed’ it for my own growing collection.
Queen though were, and remain, my band. I have added others over the years of course, but we had their Jazz album on LP and it was chockful of hit songs (Bicycle Race, Fat Bottomed Girls, Don’t Stop Me Now), otherworldly sounds (Mustapha), and beautiful ballads (In Only Seven Days). Without realising it, they were forming my love of song writing, of rock music, and of meaningful heartfelt lyrics.
For all their rock legend antics, some of the quieter album tracks are my favourites, stepping away from the bombastic, stadium rock defining songs, you find songs with a folk feel (’39), and quiet piano driven ballads arrive gently more often than not.
Another constant in our house was books, both my parents were avid readers, the local library a weekly visit, and soon I too was happiest with my headphones on and my nose in a book, devouring words whilst well crafted songs seeped into my brain.
Is it any wonder I’ve always been drawn to meaningful and thoughtful lyrics, always tended to imprint my own thoughts and moods on them. The joy to be found in words, written or performed, is a core memory and as I’ve grown, and learned more about them, the pleasure found in a beautiful turn of phrase has only heightened.
And of course, as with most art forms, it’s the emotional highs and lows that hit the hardest.
Then came a band called Pearl Jam, willing to lay their emotions bare to an 18 year old who was, I now realise, already starting to struggle with who they were, what kind of person they wanted to be. An 18 year old who was pushing against what he was told he ‘should’ do (go to University) as he wasn’t even sure what he enjoyed the most. I hold no grudge against my parents for wanting me to push myself academically, I was smart enough to do so, but part of wishes they had allowed me to indulge my love of music a little more than they did.
Although to be fair to them, I constantly railed against practicing the piano, pushed back on having to learn, and given that my sister ended up with all the actual musical talent, and my achievements were only achieved by repetition and hard work, well, I can see it from my parents point of view.
If I could go back in time I would push myself to move into music production, the intersection of art and technology (think Trent Reznor), and possibly into more composition than performing. But life doesn’t work that way so I remain an avid, amateur, admirer of music in many genres, and double down on those written with a smart eye to the English language, to the poetic couplets and gentle meters that the best lyrics always contain.
Music has gotten me through many good and bad times in my life and the emotional connections born and made remain vivid and bright. It’s something I hope I can pass on to my son, to have a house full of music of all kinds, to remain interested in whatever he discovers, and then on to the utter joy and exhilaration of music performed live.
Handel’s Messiah is my first memory of live music, in Paisley Abbey (I think) as my parents were part of the choir, my Uncle Bill conducting, and I was sat in a pew (likely with a colouring book to keep me entertained). It’s a very vague memory but the opening chords still bring that memory to the surface, just as moments witnessed and held on to form a large part of my love of live music, Guy Garvey pointing at me from the stage, my own tears as Eddie Vedder opened their gig with the deep rumblings of Release Me, Skin from Skunk Anansie crowd surfing her way to the first banister in the O2 Academy in Glasgow, and so many glorious moments of joy at Glastonbury festival that I’d need an entire post just to capture them.. (makes note to write an entire post of my memories of attending Glastonbury).
I continue to curate songs into playlists, discovering new artists as and when I can (current obsession is Doechi), and revel in melodies new and old. Music is a core part of who I am, and songs that chart the stories of my life only resonate deeper and deeper as I age and, as I watch my son grow I do so in the full knowledge that I will, at some point, pass on my own tastes in some small way to him but remain excited for him to start making his own discoveries.
The other day he started doing a wee chair dance to some music and it filled my heart with joy, between his Mum and me, I’ve no doubt that music will also become a backdrop for his life.
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Dear reader, you may think some of this sounds familiar. I did too (there is nothing new etc) but it turns out I have covered some of this already.
Clearing Out
I’ve been a bit more active on social media recently, mostly as a way to share thoughts as I go through a variety of processes that all kinda suck but all need done, you know the type, all the adulting paperwork stuff that you just plough through because you have to. The current focus, and likely the last thing I’ll need to deal with, has been getting my parents flat ready to go on the market (having got probate granted a couple of weeks ago).
It’s been an odd experience, which I was partly prepared for but one aspect of it kinda snuck up on me. I posted this, a succinct summary, that encapsulates many many thoughts and emotions:
Finished clearing my Mums flat, the last “family” stuff. With my Dad, Mum and younger sister all gone it feels like a very pointed END.
Life goes on, of course, but so many memories that were ours, are now just mine. It’s an odd experience.
Posted on Threads and BlueSky (no I can’t decide which I prefer yet).
As I got through the last of the cupboards, finding old letters and photos, things from my Gran, my Aunts and Uncles, cousins and family friends that my Mum had kept (including the wedding invitation my Mum sent to my Dad for THEIR wedding, with a lovely note attached), and it all just re-enforced that all those memories now only belong to me.
What really struck me was that I had expected, subconsciously, to be able to share them with my sister.
I took a moment to sit and process, just letting myself feel the emotions, and eventually found a way to focus my thoughts. Rather than be sad that Jennie isn’t here for me to discuss all the little random things from our childhood that no-one else will remember, I found myself looking for things that her children might like to see when they get older, photos of Jennie on her first day at school, gymnastics competition certificates and the like. I’m putting them aside for later.
There was a LOT to clear out, not just paperwork and photos, there was the not so small matter of my Mum’s furniture, all in pretty good nick, all good quality stuff. And it’s all gone. Some of it sold, some to charity, and some to those needing a ‘new start’ or a helping hand (thanks to a wonderful local Facebook Group). It meant I didn’t have to worry about moving a sofa, or a bed, or a chest of drawers, or a sideboard, or a desk.
It also meant that I got to here little stories about the people who were taking the items, some of which helped me make my peace with the entire process. Mum and Dad are gone, but my Dad’s big heavy computer desk has helped someone who is just starting out with their own business, a set of drawers have gone to a lady who knits so she has somewhere to store her wool (my Mum was an avid knitter before her stroke so this would’ve made her smile). My Mum’s treadmill that she used through her early stroke rehab went to a women getting a hip replacement to help with her rehab. My Mum’s relatively new bed, which was motorised to help her get out of bed has gone to a woman who couldn’t afford a new one, and last but not least our family piano went to a family with a young girl who loves playing (I sincerely hope they can get it tuned up ok!).
The piano was my Gran’s, my Mum learned to play on it, I learned to play on it too. Weekly lessons, practice 3 times a week, I spent hours and hours sitting in front of it. I started piano when I was 8 (I think) and stopped when I got to Grade 6 when I was 14. I wasn’t a natural, I worked hard, and today I have an electric piano that I will one day find space to set up so Jack can see it and hear me play. I hope it serves its new family well.
When I mentioned that I was about to get clear out my parents flat to a friend, he suggested it might bring me some closure and he was right. I didn’t think it would but not only is it a big admin burden removed (once we get through the sale and all the monies are divvied up etc), but just the emotional weight of it and all the contents and memories it held were sitting heavier with me than I realised.
I have hummmm’d and hawwww’d about what things to keep, what things to throw out, and while most of it will go I am digitising a lot of it (i.e. taking photos). So much of what I found over the past week will mean little to anyone but me now, I am the guardian of those memories.
And that’s ok, for they are rich and more full of love and happiness than I dared remember.
Clearing out my parents flat has helped me clear out some of the mental debris in my head too, I think. I feel lighter, and whilst I am still mourning my Mum and my wee sister, I feel like they have a place now. I say all this fully mindful that this idea of ‘having a place’ wasn’t something that occurred to me, but was suggested by the councillor I’m talking too. She pointed out that, specifically for Jennie, the grief just didn’t have a place. We mentally prepare that our parents will die before us, so we have space in our brains for things to help process that grief, but because Jennie was younger than me and “not supposed” to die before me, I didn’t have anywhere to put my thoughts, my anger, my sadness. I would pick it up and with nowhere to store it in my brain, I’d put it back down. Then spot it again and pick it up, put it down… repeat.
I felt trapped, unable to move forward.
Clearing out my parents flat has given me a good focus and cleared out space for Jennie too, and I can now think of her without the anger and confusion about her death itself, rather I’m sad that we won’t have more memories to build which feels like a more normal form of grief (if there is such a thing).
Not quite closure then, but a definite beginning of an end. Grief is not linear but it’s shape and it’s patterns have changed for me this past week, as hard as it was.
And so, we move on.