Some of my fondest memories are those of the times spent camping, especially at Mother Ivey’s Bay. For many years we would spend most weekends and our summer holidays there. Dad was probably less mature than us…he was always clambering across the rocks with us finding the best place to dive from (yes dad encouraged us to tombstone and was probably one of the unofficial founders of coasteering), we would spend hours messing around in the rock-pools around Trevose Head catching shrimps and harvesting winkles and mussels or out on sandbars finding cockles so we could have our freshly cooked seafood cocktails on the campsite. On 1 occasion we found quite a good sized flat fish in one of the big rock pools at Booby’s Bay, it took dad ages to catch it but dad being dad wouldn’t give up until he caught it, it was quite a thing to watch and amused everyone on the beach when he dived on it try and catch it. I am sure mum must have spent most of her time thinking she had 3 children as dad was a true Peter Pan and so easily led astray by me and Rachel. She should have known better than to send dad and me into Padstow to collect the family allowance, true to form; we collected it but came home with a really nice beach caster fishing rod; which f course dad quickly said he had bought it for her (really??). Our camping holidays began in a tent as very small babies with a mini van and a trailer, every time we drove to any campsite dad would always without fail and at least 5 times during the journey,” I am sure there is something following us”, in some ways he was very predictable. We progressed onto our first camper in about the 80’s I think, this was a Sherpa highwayman, but dad always wanted a VW…see he always had good taste, the VW thing must be in the blood. We got a brand new VW T3 Devon Sunrise, he was so proud of his van, we then ventured over to France each year camping, where we found new places that became very special to us, we would often end up over there for Bastille Day and he loved getting involved in all the local celebrations. One spring, dad woke up as usual, opened the front room curtains to check on his pride and joy…..low and behold it wasn’t there….someone had stolen it…he was devastated, but dad’s way of dealing with it was to make up a little poem ‘spring has sprung, the grass has rise, I don’t know where my camper is’. He soon cheered up when the insurance paid out and he realised he got back more money than he actually paid for it brand new in the first place. Dad wasn’t just my dad, he was my best mate. We did so much together over the years, even up until dad’s last few weeks we were still out camping together. As a teenager and young adult we would often go out drinking together, I used to work in the local social club, so he would often come up for a drink when I was working then we would go on to town for a few more afterwards, and I would always end up bringing him home slaughtered (much to mum’s annoyance as he was a very loud snorer, especially after he had a few). My friends would nag me to get dad to do a curry night, he went through a stage of cooking banquets of Indian cuisine for us, he did make the best chicken chat ever. Many of both Rachel and my friends were like extended family to dad, we were so lucky to have such amazing, stable parents that whenever our friends had problems at home, ours would be the first place they would come, most just walked in opened the fridge, helped themselves to food and gave dad as good as he gave them. Dad was one of the least politically correct people I know, but always seemed to get away with it, he knew when and who he could get away with it and our friends knew the more grief they got off him the more he liked them. I think it was his cute, cheeky smile that helped, which Alfie has inherited gap in front teeth included!! He was one of a kind, and I still can’t imagine not seeing him again, not only was he my dad; he was my superhero, friend, confidant and inspiration. I just hope that I made him proud.