I’m not quite sure how Uncle Graeme morphed into Gruncle Graeme, as it stood for Grumpy Uncle Graeme, which you definetly weren’t.  Unless leftover food was hanging around in the fridge for too long. You weren’t ever even Uncle with being only 10 years older than me.  I remember you coming home from university and watching Top of the Pops together, one of the songs from those days was on the radio whilst you were in hospital- “Making plans for Nigel”.  I took it as a sign you’d get better and I’d hear you get the lyrics wrong, again.  I can’t believe I won’t.

More recently you took me, Rupert and our children, Oliver and Isobel, hiking and scrambling in Snowdonia.  By then you’d become Great Gruncle Graeme, much to your horror.  Beautiful views and an amazing day but I’ll be forever scarred by you singing Cher’s “If I could turn back time”.  Repeatedly.  Even worse was that fact you only knew the title line.  The hills were not alive with the sound of music but the pub certainly was alive with us at the end of the day.  

It seems impossible to believe we won’t be able to do that sort of thing again.  We didn’t see enough of you, so stupid with hindsight, but the memories we have are special.  

Keep climbing those mountains, drinking that beer and red wine.  Maybe just give the singing a miss. Xx