Yesterday I went to my Uncle Les' funeral. I was dreading it, for no specific reason. Noone likes going to funerals, right? It was a humanist service, since my uncle and his family aren't religious at all. It seemed a lot more appropriate than a religious one, which just makes non-religious people feel uncomfortable. They played 'Smile Though Your Heart is Aching' and 'Unforgetable' (Sounded like Frank Sinatra, though could be wrong). Afterward we went back to my cousin Tracy's house and had drinks, food, reminiscences, etc. Anyway, I wanted to write some some of my memories of him.

He was a tiler by trade and a Sheffield United fan (although I can't condone that). He's quite a few years older than my dad. I remember one Christmas he got out a long knife, which he got during his national service as a desert rat in North Africa, followed by a lot of photos of my dad as a kid. One of Dad wearing wollen trunks on a beach somewhere.

When I was young he had a Peter Kay style aversion to garlic bread ('Garlic and Bread!'), but later on he travelled with my Aunty and broadened his palate and his horizons. They went to 42 different countries together.

He was competative at times and we'd often end up having good natured family arguments over games. I remember laughing at him battling with my mum over receiving a lipstick spot on his forehead, the penatly for making a mistake in one game.

He told us on Christmas, how he'd repulsed a girlfriend of Jonathan's (his son), who come to visit for the first time by serving up tripe and I remember admiring the icing he'd done on the Christmas cake (he was handy with a trowel). I remember how proud and happy he was when he became a grandfather and how he took, with good grace, being referred to as 'Grumpa' by us all.

He was fun to have around and I will always remember him and all those happy times. This is for him (I am a Wednesday fan):