Normally on Fathers Day I’d post a picture of ma lang deid Dad, moan aboot how he died on Christmas Eve when I was at the school and get a bit girny. Not today.
Because this year Fathers Day happens to coincide with my wedding anniversary. So I’ve really got something to girn aboot. This time last year was our silver wedding anniversary. 25 years since the drugs, brainwashing, alcohol and sheer bloody persistence persuaded you to climb into your surprise limousine and head off to Leith Town Hall to marry me. I say surprise. The real surprise was it still had all it’s wheels when you got tae the fit o’ the stair.
Last year you were in the hospice. It was one of your good days. Good as in “I know I’m going to die but at least the hallucinations and paranoia caused by the cancer on my brain are being held at bay for a few hours by the tablets good”.
There were a lot of tears but a few laughs as well. You ayeways were the funniest girl I ever knew. And as for me, well I’m a riot. I still can’t believe it’s ten months since the bastards took ye away so there will mainly be tears this year. I’m even writing this the night afore as I doubt I’ll be out my bed.
I went raking and found a few outtakes that never made it to the wedding album.
Me double checking you’d turned up.
Me and the best man looking confident after Prince Ferdinand romped home at 9/2 ten minutes before the wedding. Just as well as I’d put the meal money on him.
The post wedding meal with your son, his girlfriend, your bridesmaid and my best man.
The pair o’ us at the meal.
Cutting the cake post-wedding at the hoose o’ the bridesmaid.
In the Carlton Highland for our one night honeymoon. Naturally I’ve fired up Teletext for the footie scores and checked oot the mini-bar.
Clicking will bring up the big version.
St Columba’s Hospice Tribute Fund for Linda Hamilton