Sadly to attend my uncles funeral.
He was my dad's youngest brother and although we didn't see him too often in the last few years he formed a massive impression on us when we were kids as he was very much of the school that kids shouldn't be wrapped in cotton wool.
He had us sea fishing from canoes off the coast of Port Erin, climbing up cliffs at Bradda Head and helped us make go karts to fly down the Prom at mad speeds.
After the funeral my brother and I along with our cousins who still live on the island went to some of his old drinking places along the sea front and in every bar there was someone there to tell us of crazy nights they had spent in there with him, lock ins, the women (he never married but did, ahem!, know one or two) and planning meetings that resulted in trips around Europe in his old Jaguar.
He died (like my dad) because of the fags but he lead one hell of a life and we couldn't help thinking as we raised our glasses at the last pub that he would not have wanted it any other way.
RIP mate.
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