The funniest thing Uncle Gordon ever did was put a large bouquet: triangular in shape and a foot and a half long, in the top pocket of his dress suit at my cousin’s wedding. He didn’t make a speech but a statement. He said, there is madness here.
I’d already noticed it. It was hard not to. He had a shock of dark, curly hair and a shy smile that gave a strong hint of the little boy he’d been. He often looked awkward. My mother implied that perhaps everything was not all there. I could testify to this: when you arrived at he and Aunt Joan’s house he’d scurry into the kitchen and make tea all round and often there would be a cry of, “Gordon,” from my aunt to propel him onto some other task: vegetable peeling, washing, windows, pots, toilet cleaning, drain clearing and so forth all…
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