Uncle Brian

My uncle Brian was born in the middle of the second world war, the second of four children, my mum being the oldest. He'd have been twenty-three when I was born.

As the oldest grandchild on my mum's side, I was totally spoilt by the attention that I received from my maternal grandparents and my aunts and uncles, all of whom lived within a few miles of each other, around New Malden in Surrey. On Saturdays everyone would congregate at my grandparents and I loved playing with my young aunt and uncles, who were all great fun.

When I was eight we went to live in Hong Kong for four years, returning only once on holiday around Christmas 1976. It was wonderful to see our extended family again and I remember on the day we flew back to Hong Kong, Brian arranged to take me to the airport in his car. I can vividly remember the joyous expression on his face as he opened the car door and revealed that he'd shaved off his moustache.

We came back to the UK when I was twelve and we lived in the next road along from Brian. After school, I'd go around to play badminton with him in his garden and sometimes we'd share a can of shandy afterwards. He was always fun, always game for a joke, and entertained me and my brother endlessly with tales of his work colleagues.

A few years later, when I joined the male side of the family's Sunday lunchtime tradition of assembling in the pub at the bottom of New Malden High Street, I discovered Brian was just as adept at amusing adults as he was me and my cousins. I loved standing there, listening to him, my dad and their friends.

And then, when I left university, I spent a couple of weeks helping Brian and my dad to decorate my grandparents' house. I guess that was the last time I spent any significant time with him, although he was responsible for getting me my first job, the one that shaped the rest of my career. But, of course, I saw him many, many times over the years and, in some respects, he never changed; always ready with a joke or a tale of some horror that had befallen him. He never stopped making me laugh.

A few months ago, Brian was diagnosed with cancer. The last time I saw him was just before Christmas, in hospital. At the time he was very unwell but even then he managed a smile and tried to crack a joke or two. But as I went to leave and kiss him goodbye, he told me how much he loved me. I don't remember him saying that before, but he never needed to, even then.

Brian passed away today. He would have been seventy-one tomorrow. I knew it was coming and I've been feeling sad for a while. But now he's gone and I can't stop thinking about him. I always adored him and I know that he knew I loved him, too. But just to be sure, I told him that, the last time I saw him.