Most memories of my wonderful brother, Mick, over the years seem to revolve around music, alcohol and food, and having a fucking good time.
Mick and Rosemarie’s house was a haven for me and my two sons, Paul and Ross, during the late eighties and early nineties.
Always invited to Rosemarie’s sumptuous Sunday roasts, Mick and I raiding the drinks cupboard for obscure bottles of liqueurs when the wine ran out, gorging on After Eight Mints dipped in double cream, then off to the Rotunda Amusement Park (it’s a wonder no one ever threw up!) or up the East Cliff for a bowling session, much to the annoyance of more sedate Sunday bowlers.
And as teenagers living in South East London, when Mum and Dad spent weekends away at the caravan in Hythe, Mick would arrange parties at 13 Nelgarde Road for all his biker mates, which delighted my best friend Kate and I, enabling us to jive and smooch to Buddy Holly records with all the handsome lads! But often as not, Mick would have one too many cans of Watneys Red Barrel or bottles of Pale Ale and stagger off to bed with his long-suffering and patient fiancée, Rosemarie, leaving the house in full swing, word getting round all the Catford pubs of a riotous party, generating gatecrashers by the dozen! Cigarette butts thrown through the open front room windows via Mum’s best net curtains, beer bottle tops smashed off gauging out holes in Dad’s best formica kitchen worktops, and neighbours up in arms at the rock ‘n roll ruckus!
But right back up to date and, despite my brother’s long term illness, the pain and discomfort he constantly suffered, nothing was ever too much trouble when help or advice was needed. My laptop needed reformatting – no problem. Music compilation needed for a themed party – no problem. Discussions every Friday afternoon, over tea and Rosemarie’s delicious home baked cakes, about politics, the latest HBO series, upcoming local music concerts worth booking – no problem. His most recent kindness, knowing we both have a love of faultless grammar and punctuation was to email me sound files of Mark Twain’s autobiography which he was so enjoying.
Mick was my hero in so many ways and Rosemarie, always by his side, my heroine. That amazing combination of love for each other and everyone else in their lives.
A very apt verse of a song composed by Mick’s favourite Buddy Holly:
Blue days – black nights
blue tears keep on falling – for you dear
now you’re gone
blue days – black nights
my heart keeps on calling for you dear
and you alone
