Happy Deid Dad Day.

It was 37 years ago today that my Dad, Alexander Walker Hamilton, died, leaving my (now also deid) Irish mammy a widow.  I’m sure life would have turned out differently if he’d hung around to kick my arse for a few more years with his Lanarkshire spawned pit boots.

Fast forward to this year and I was widowed at the same age as my Mum was all these years ago.  Now I finally lost my faith the day I was told that Linda was going to die (June 2nd, 2017 for the pedants out there) but I can’t shake the feeling that someone / something out there really, really has it in for me.

Linda never believed in God, not with the fucking awful life she had, but she always thought that fate had decided happiness was never to be hers.

Anyway, here’s my Dad in his prime, spiv days, lording it at the races (on the left).


And Here he is with a young Mr H, outside our luxury holiday accommodation at Kinghorn, around about 1971.


And here he is, fighting Hitler, in his RAF uniform, getting his picture taken at the Valette Studio, 32 Bank Street, Blackpool, on 2 May 1942.