My Dad: Billy Bovill from Birkenhead

Thanks to the power of Google, I recently stumbled across a small reference to my father in the Newcastle Herald from 1950.

My father passed away when I was eight years old of a heart attack (myocardial infarction).

My memories of my father are sketchy at best, which always bothered me, even though I have since learned that this is not an uncommon occurrence.

However, I remember the day he died quite clearly.  I would like to save that story for another time.

The funny thing is now that I have little boys of my own, I am going through a renaissance of thinking about my Dad.

Born from boilermaker stock, I mysteriously couldn’t hang a shelf to save my life.  However, I am a near genetic clone of my father, and my first born son appears to be a clone of me.

And more and more I find myself saying things that are straight from the mouth of my father.  I even slip into a Pommie accent.

As Mr Burns’ monkey once typed:  It is the best of times, it is the blurst of times.

Anyway, I miss you Dad.