Remembering Uncle George in Caffe Nero ...

I'm in Caffe Nero, waiting for a latte - outside, near the Lloyds cash machines, a smiling Bosnian is playing an accordion - 

We're on our way to Waitrose - instead of Tanglefoot, they'd sent my dad cans of barleywine - 

Unlike my Uncle George, my dad would be banjaxed by bumpers of barleywine - 

My uncle George was known as the barleywine man in his local pub - I'm not sure if he still drinks there - he's older than my dad - brother George is still going my dad will say - 

Uncle George is now be in his late eighties, a tipsy kindly cherub - he sang Irish songs at our wedding - 

I remembered visiting Uncle George's Southsea villa when I was a boy in search of wonders - 

There was a pianola I played, working its pedals with my narrow sandalled feet - 

I could squint at the pyramids or Angkor Wat through a Victorian stereoscope - 

The Ferguson would show Lady Penelope and Parker in lurid trippy colours - 

Later, my dad would drive me back home in the Vauxhall Viva - 

15.30

September 3 2014

Caffe Nero

Havant