Recipe for a Wonderful Father


1 tablespoon trust.

1 teaspoon patience

250g of competitiveness

100 g of mischief

300g respect. Season with love

First take memories of childhood, remove the pips of sour chastisement, before cutting into quarters. Grate and put in bowl.


Find some added spices such as fun and games galore. We spent hours playing table tennis or hide and seek in extraordinary places. Practical jokes that may seem a little dark now, but I shine the light on them since they were all part of the package. Your childhood laughter – always contagious and fun, leaves a delightful taste.

Main ingredients

Mix in wisdom. I had the first taste of life and reality at such a tender age. Your mind intrigued me, it was like an abyss of all knowledge. ‘Is there a god?’ you asked, ‘If there is, then who made god?’ My faith only got more complicated from there on, my mother always re-iterating “why do you ask so many questions? You’re so like your father!”

Leave the mixture to settle and contemplate.

As I rose through my teens, the distance grew as you moved across the seas. Our meetings more sacred and tastes more mature. A glass of sangria facing each other across the backgammon board, its leather mountains perfectly stitched, as the dice fell. The tissue paper creases marked your face, but you still had that same twinkle in your eye.

Experiment a little

We clashed with our words as minds grew in different directions. I rose to your challenges, and stood my ground. Never content to rest, you studied a physics degree in your fifties; always keeping that amazing mind of yours ticking over. With me now a businesswoman, we swapped recipes to seek new ways for success.  

But some things remained the same: sitting on the terrace with fine port and Manchego, we continued to thrash about with the complexities of life and religion. Until the conversations dried up.

Lower temperature 140*

Like a perfectly risen souffle, it was time to turn the heat off. Fewer phone calls, fewer visits

But you were always with me somewhere in my home. I open my fridge to find Chorizo, which continues in a panoply of dishes. Its rich dark oil saturating whatever it touches. 

Remove from oven

My paella dish now sits on top of the kitchen cupboards gathering dust, yet Manchego is still my favourite cheese. I may not count the croissants like you did, but I still like them crusty and warm with melted butter. I still feel a rebel for cutting the rind off a piece of brie, even though you are no longer here to reprimand. 


My life has been flavoured like a sweet and sour dish. But you were the one who taught me to count the sprinkles on my ice-cream … not other people’s.  You were the one who added sugar & spice and all things nice. 

After Dinner Thoughts

Life was a holiday in your home. Memories made with grandchildren and sandy feet on your best sofa! They now continue your legacy, thriving in all that they do.

Whilst now gone, ashes lost in the wind in someplace unknown, you finally have the answer to life’s biggest question. You found out before me, which is the way it should be.

Cheers Dad xx

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