Surrounded by poo
Nappies were rarely just pee
Went on forever

Thought it was his teeth
I’m still hoping it’s his teeth
Gluten allergies?

Theory: I have one
I really hope it’s not true
He has dairy squirts

Aww, poor little man
“Cheese” is a new word for him
Let’s hope it’s not that

Being a second-time Mum, I’m a little more laid back, I don’t feel like I react like I did with Ian, but of course, concern is still there. He rarely has had just a pee nappy for over 2.5 months and I knew it had to be something else and not teething — quietly hoping it wasn’t.

We took Cameron to the doctor on Wednesday, they squeezed us in. I mentioned the slightly elevated temperature, the ear tugging and the nasty nappies. He told me he didn’t have an ear infection, but his frequent “movements” could be an allergy to gluten. That would be such a nightmare, then again, I don’t like the idea of him having an intestinal disdain for dairy either. He handed me some paperwork for the blood work and we went across the street to the lab at the hospital.

I knew he was a little toughie, he rarely cries from needle jabs in the legs. Bryan sat with him and held down an arm to minimise the flailing and showed him his mobile/cell phone. The phlebotomist was great, but even more surprising, Cameron did amazing too. All he did was stare at her jabbing him for the blood draw and pull out a wee petted lip. No tears, no wailing. he was a wee champion!

Now we have to play the waiting game, and if the results are negative, no dairy products will be gracing his life for two weeks. He’ll be “maaah”ing for yogurt and cheese.

Life will be bleeting fantastic.

An instance where TV doesn’t teach your kids as much as you’d think it does.

1. Family Ties

2. CHiPS

3. Roseanne

4. Small Wonder

5. The Wonder Years

6. The A-Team

7. Married: With Children

8. Mork & Mindy

9. Taxi

10. The Golden Girls (shut your dirty mouth)

11. Cheers

12. Heart to Heart

13. Cagney and Lacey

(14.  The Cosby Show)

Isn’t it amazing how life gets in the way of our plans? As most of you know, I came to the States almost 8.5 years ago on the pretense that I would live, work a little then leave. I craved a change of scenery, a shift from the mundane. Wow, I got my challenge wish (just with the USCIS alone). My plans started, but didn’t end that way.

If you know Immigration much, you’ll know it’s not easy to gain willful employment here without a Social Security number, something I learned after my 6-month visitors’ visa and I stepped off the plane in broad daylight in a comfortably warm San Francisco, early December 1999. It was a far cry from the dark, 3-week long, frigidly cold rain-fest I left behind in Scotland.

Short of wishing I had been blogging back then, or at least jotting down my thoughts in some way (without fear of having them read and critised*) I can only share my sketchy memories at best. Everything was different: the concreted highway roads, the 100-foot high billboards dotting the Interstates, the amount of traffic lanes, the blinding sun.

After getting over the initial jet lag and culture shock, and perhaps even lifestyle shock (I was used to Clubbing every weekend and always being on the go, to — nothing), and even after applying for jobs, sitting filling out application forms until I couldn’t fill in anymore blanks, I resigned myself to the fact that when it came down to it, I was stuck here for at least 3 months and I had to find something, anything to do. The house was straightened, the laundry done and hung up and put away, carpets were spotless and meals were cooked. Where much is given, much is required. I refused to clean the litter tray or make her bed though. At first I was glad to do it, just to do something to fill my day. I’m not the type to just sit and do nothing, I have to be doing SOMEthing.

After a while I started getting, “Anita at work wishes she had someone like you at her place. She wants to borrow you, but I told her you were my wife and she wasn’t getting you!” Funny? Maybe. I wasn’t laughing though. It implied my busyness was almost being overlooked and horribly under appreciated and taken for granted. It also implied a dark, sick joke and I wasn’t going there.

I needed some intellectual stimulus, anything to fill the void I was feeling after working for so long. Online gaming was fun for a while, but I got lonely with no one to talk to except the two cats. Don’t get me wrong, I like cats, but there’s only so much one-sided conversation you can take before you realise there’s a thin line between interacting with them and morphing into the psycho cat lady with no life.

I soon found an online forum with some like-minded (non-cat related) sarcastic-fuelled antagonists — all in fun, of course. Soon after, Bryan joined the group and I felt drawn to him in a I’ve-known-him-for-ages kinda way. I wasn’t looking for any sort of relationship, but definitely liked the attention my uber-sarcastic persona was attracting — the good, and the bad. The bad just validated it for me and encouraged more of it.

After a week or so of chatting with Bryan, I added him to my messenger and we left the forum behind. We’d chat until it was daylight. One night we chatted right up until he had to leave for work that day. It still amazes me how everything unfolded. He was, and still is, easy to talk to. He exemplified many traits and qualities I admired and wanted in a mate, but I never really thought for a moment - at least in the early days - that anything would come from it. It’s still interesting to me how being online and getting to know someone from the words on the screen breaks down many barriers society and even social etiquette teaches us. Some of the limitations we even impose upon ourselves taken from past experiences and relationships. But when you don’t have that to complicate everything, you open up and share things you’d probably be a lot more reserved about sharing. And being British, I’m reserved by nature anyway.

As time passed and our trust grew deeper, I felt myself letting my guard down more and more which made our connection stronger and our friendship deeper. It was a surprise. It totally crept up on me; us. Neither of us were looking for a relationship, but are we ever? And just when you feel like you’ve given up on relationships and the complicated emotional headaches they can be, and you’ve reigned yourself to having to settle, settle for something less than you know you’re worthy of, you’re handed something you’ve wanted but didn’t really realise you wanted it. Until you realise you could lose it.

One night in mid-May and approximately 3 weeks before my Visa expired and I’d have to head home, I got an e-mail from Bryan saying he was sorry he couldn’t talk to me that night that he was tired from work and Uni and was heading to bed, but wanted to share something with me. He told me that he’s not the spontaneous type (and he’s totally not, he has to plan things, make lists and bloody spreadsheets and pivot graphs…) but had booked a flight to California to come meet me and spend 4 days with me over Memorial Weekend, 2000.

I was excited, scared, elated and panic-struck all in one breath.

But mainly excited.

He was just the kind, compassionate, sensitive but strong man I had grown to know and love across the 600 miles that separated us. His gentleness and spirituality mirrored each other perfectly. He was that mix of responsible but fun I’d been waiting for. He was my best friend, and still is.

It almost sounds crazy now, but just 4 months after the initial meeting, and after I went out to Yellowstone with him and his family and spent three weeks with all of them (on his dime), I moved states to be closer to him.

My love for him over the years hasn’t changed, but expanded and transformed into something greater. He remains the most amazing man I’ve ever met. The roads we’ve walked together have been rewarding and very difficult at times, but they have brought us closer together and made us stronger; and especially, have given us perspective and a respect for what we have now.

Things won’t always be easy and I know there’ll be more times in the future where we have to make difficult decisions, and sacrifice something for something better, but I feel better prepared for it having Bryan at my side.

I am so grateful God helped me find you eight years ago. I am a better person because you love me.

* I could write 6 or 7 blogs on this very subject (old room mate). I have it all written down. Maybe one day.

Or…

Thirteen Things I Miss About Scotland. I’m only sarcastic 38.7% of the time.

1. Stopping at the fuel pump. When we were there, the petrol was a very deceiving £1.07/litre. Pause with me, if you will, for just a moment to experience the ramifications of the deception. There are 3.79 litres in a gallon. The conversion rate from Pounds (£) to Dollars ($) - at the time - was $2.14 to £1. Let’s get to the point here. I paid £113.42 for a full tank of petrol on a 7-passenger car. And no, I didn’t courtesy pay for the guy on the motorbike behind me either. That’s a whopping $8.68 a gallon. Say it louder! Suddenly $3-something seems a little more reasonable. You’ll probably still hear me complain about it though.

Does this answer your burning question about why most twenty-something Brits drive about in cars the size of a Yaris? Or, in fact, they actually DO own a Yaris. Yeah. Thought it just might.

2. Stopping at Auld’s. I love Fudge Doughnuts. Fudge Doughnuts are cream-filled with a thick layer of icing on top with chocolate icing strands. [I'm suddenly wising I'd stopped long enough to grab a photo of one, but I'm a glutenous pig with no heart.] One day we went walking around my hometown looking for some souvenirs, Ian got in a huge strop and refused to go any further. As we opened the door to a kilt hire/non-tacky souvenir place, the bloke at the door said, “Aww, whit’s wrong, son?” I simply replied, “he wants a Fudge Doughnut…” “Oh, I’d be greetin’ too!” We left and went and got some. Now we were all happy. My thighs need some doughnuts.

3. Shopping. One of the first places I stopped at was with my Mum at a supermarket called Morrison’s. [If you feel a bit left out - know this: Morrison's bought out all the Safeway locations in Scotland.] Anyway, for the first few minutes or so of casually watching my Mum sweep the aisles looking for the things she wanted, I stood in the middle and just gawked at everything, half not believing I was actually in Scotland again, staring at cakes and bread and the myriad of cheeses and (back) bacon and meat pies. I felt like a big kid and I totally loved it.

I also miss Marks & Spencer (M&S or affectionately known as ‘Marks & Sparks’), they have great food. I quietly wish the chain was over here. I also miss Tesco, despite the fact that it’s the same company as Target.

If you’ve ever lived in another country for a short spell and have been forced to stare at shelves not recognising brands or products and relied on their price to weigh whether or not they’re really worthy to sit in your trolley, you’ll know what I mean when I say glaring at a brand you are familiar with and have a history with is comforting, nostalgic and poignant all at the same time. It’s also pretty humbling.

4. Portion Control. I KNOW certain things about the UK. I know that if you walk into a supermarket to buy toothpaste or body wash or whatever takes your fancy, you’ll be staring at a smaller sized product for roughly the same price you’ll pay at least over here in the States. I know this, but when you SEE it again, you suddenly REMEMBER. During one of my moments of incredulity (it’s A WORD), I looked over at my Mum and said, “People in Britain are getting ripped off.” “I KNOW!” she replied, through gritted eyebrows.

5. Driving. I’ll say my brother is a good driver. I’ll say it because he’s bigger than me. I’ll also say it because he’s never hit anything. If you’ve ever watched Top Gear on BBC America (and if you haven’t, where the hell have you been? Get to it!), you’ll know what I mean if I say he drives reminiscent of The Stig: Skilled, but fast. One afternoon, we were driving through a residential area which, judging by the narrowness of the tarmac’d area, you could be forgiven for thinking it was a one-way. Add to that there were cars parked on the our side of the street and a car coming in the opposite direction and you’re starting to understand how my stomach could be on the roof of my mouth - well at least maybe its contents. “Aren’t you worried you’ll hit someone?” I said, almost pleading as the car coming in the opposite direction grazed past about an inch away. “Nah” he said laughing, “they have brakes too and anyway, I go this fast so the ones coming the other way will think, ‘wow look at this eejit coming!’ and get out ma way!” Comforting.

6. Weather. I never thought I’d hear myself say it, but I actually miss the rain. Now granted it stopped me from taking many pictures I wanted to take — but thanks to the rain I saw THIS in March out of my Gran’s window.

Now picture starkness and straw-yellow blandness and you’re looking at Montana the same time of year. I miss Spring. Two weeks just isn’t long enough. I don’t like too hot and I don’t like too cold. I need to move (back) to Cali. Somewhere else. But that’s another post…

7. Buses. Now that smoking on the bus is completely banned (well, it never was allowed, but when the driver is lighting up, what’s stopping anyone else from doing it?) and I’m here, riding on a bus is much more enjoyable. I did it once when we were over, just me and my Mum. The same bus driver has been driving the route since I was 11 and basically watched me grow up. I had to ride this bus to high school too, so I was always around. It was a little surreal seeing him again, especially when I walked on and he chirped, “hello sexy!” Ehhh, the name’s Siobhan.

8. Take Away. I miss having a plethora of food establishments to call on in a moment of weakness hunger. One night I phoned for a curry and had to spell my Mum’s street address.
“R-T-S for sierra D–No, D…for donkey”
Seconds later I realised I’d pretty much implied he was an idiot and tried to stifle a laugh. I then looked to my younger brother for some solice only to find him bent over like a Swiss army knife, his shoulders shaking.
“Phone number…?”
“Ehh…uhh…heh-heh-heh”
“Phone number…?”
I couldn’t speak and had to hand the phone off to him.

9. Electricity. There are 220 volts in the UK. I grew up fearing it. And as you know, I grew up with a FEW things dying on me: Two hairdryers and an iron. Backtrack: Not only do you plug an appliance in, you have to flick the switch too. OK, so the first day after we arrived, I plugged the power converter in and then plugged my 6-month old hairdryer in on top of that (yes, another one).

I hadn’t even flicked the switch — BANG!! I dropped to the floor with shock and made that womanly involuntary yelp-groan. We’ve all done it, don’t judge me! The hairdryer came with me. I now couldn’t use it and had to walk around with damp, psycho hair till I got to my Mum’s. I got most of it dry, but it was still pretty nasty. I then went and saw my Gran. The following day I walked in with my coiffured hair and she asked, “did you get you hair set?” (i.e. did a stylist dry and style your hair for you?) Wow. I looked THAT bad the day before? Apparently.

Incidentally, it still worked when after we got home.

10. The M6. if you’ve ever had the misfortune of driving the Utah belt of I-15, imagine this for about 8-9 hours. What a bloody nightmare. Imagine it after 24 solid hours of flights, customs and layovers and practically no sleep. Imagine my head bobbing trying to keep Bryan straight. When you understand that I never sleep in cars and only recently trained myself to sleep sitting up, you’ll know how bad I was when I tell you what a fight it was to stay awake. We had to pull over at a few Welcome Breaks just to sleep and survive. The kids were fine, they slept a lot during the flights and the drive. When we were about 3 hours from my Mum’s place, I figured Bryan was acclimated to driving in the UK again and nodded off. Yes, I’m that vindictive.

11. Chocolate. It’s amazing what you’ll let pass as edible when you’ve been in the States for 15 days shy of 8.5 years. The lovely wee chocolate companies in the UK bring out about 3 or 4 new bars a year. I had a lot to catch up on. I’ll also add it was a good thing I was also outside a lot, walking.

12. Chip Shops and the Police (’polis’). Standing in line at a chip shop is one of the most rudimentary and stimulating pass times in Scotland. The smell of freshly made pizzas, the vinegar, pickled onions and all the fizzy drinks. I also stood in line with two on-duty officers. So there it is my friends, American cops eat doughnuts; Scottish fuzz eat fish n’ chips.

Interestingly, their uniform has also changed. It’s a lot more Spandex-y than it used to be. Gone are the days of white shirts and stuffy blazers. Nice one.

13. Rolling my R’s. After just two days of being back, I was back to my old habits. I eventually stopped rolling my R’s here mainly because I got tired of wee old women saying, “that’s so cute, say that again, dear.” I’ll say it again as I stab you in the eyes with my bony fingers, witch. It’s a good thing I’m only evil on the inside.

Didn’t want to say
Just in case I jinxed myself
I think I’m safe now

Sixteen months - long time
I’ve had broken sleep patterns
Ne’er a full night’s rest

Now it’s safe to say
Twelve days of unbridled bliss
Sleep, again, at last!

I neglected to post the winning caption earlier in the week for the…interesting pic. The mars bar et al goes to The Grand View for submitting this beezer:

“She’s smiling now but wait until she realizes it isn’t sweat that is dripping down her arse.”

N.K.O.T.B.
I thought it was a rumour
I heard you were back

You’ll be on Today [today]
Should I watch given the chance?
[Ian:] “Can I watch my shows?”

Interesting thought
How should I be reacting?
Am I glad/indiff?

I became a fan
Jordan, Joey, Donnie, Jon
And then the weird one

Not an 80’s chick
Looking for a band to fan
Nice! Hot guys that sing!

Had posters on walls
Videos/tape collections
Think they’ll sound the same?

Growing up in the 80’s I never really clung to one artist like a lot of my friends (or my older brother) did. I wasn’t exclusively into Wham!, U2, Bananarama, A-ha, Erasure or Duran Duran; I liked many people and that seemed a bit weird to a lot of the people I hung about with.

Or maybe it was just the fact that I couldn’t fill a bra.

As the eighties were coming to a close, I heard about New Kids on the Block and listened to their stuff over a high tariff phone call. I bought their first album and liked it. I decided that I should probably pick someone, SOMETHING to like - just like my friends around me (peer pressure, isn’t it lovely?). So, I decided on them, although not entirely convinced myself. OooOoo, committing to one group… Not confident on just that, I had to pick one to idolize, so rather than pick my favourite, Jordan, I swung the vote and went for Joey. I don’t know why either.

I followed them for a while; my brother even fuelled the quasi-obsession and bought me their videos for Christmas one year. I don’t think I can really explain it, I liked them, but there was just something missing.

As my bra size changed, so did my interest, much like my Mum experienced with the Beatles when “they got weird”.

I remember Jordan had a failed attempt at a solo career (IMO), although it was probably the song choice and producers rather than any singing ability. Or maybe it was just me. ‘Give it to You’ weirded me out a little. What was up with him getting all freak-nasty? Where was my “I’ll bring your mother flowers, your dog will love me and I’ll show you my Rubik’s cube prowess” skelf of a man?

But the fact of the matter remains: Am I all that interested that they’re back? Maybe. And maybe at least for the eye candy and to see if I’ve aged better than they have. It’s a competition after all.

Despite the fear of verbal retribution from my nearest and dearest, I’m going to go and throw caution to the wind and post my homage to Scottish actors. Hate me not for I speak the truth.

1. Craig Ferguson: Yes Craig, I picked you first, because I know how you “like to Google your Yahoo!” and how bemused your wee face would be if you saw I’d placed you #1. I also like talking about you like we’re LIKETHAT and have some sort of lengthy history (nothing sordid, just of a purely platonic nature with a smidgen of unrequited). You’ll get over me though, they all do. One day I’ll devise a question for you to read out loud on your lovely, wind-swept and snazzy show and I’ll get the validation I’m obviously craving. You can thank me for converting my husband to your ideology (when we can bear to stay awake), because until my clandestine intervention, he’d been stalking the gangly Conan O’Brien for years. Yes, I’m THAT good. Oh, and happy birthday on Saturday.

2. James McAvoy: Where were you when I was growing up? — And don’t say Glasgow. I enjoyed the stellar performance in The Last King of Scotland, but don’t hate me because I fell asleep half way through. So what if I’m a lightweight?

3. Gerard Butler: The first time I came across him was ‘Dear Frankie’. I had no idea that 50% of the film was shot in my hometown, so what an added bonus to see his lovely wee face grace the screen. I was no longer resigned to staring blankly at old Scottish actors….

4. Sean Connery: Seany-Sean-Sean, thank you for putting Scotland on the map and for paving the way for Scottish actors everywhere to bog off to Hollywood and leave us all with the dregs of society. I forgive you though, thousands of other women wouldn’t.

5. Ewan McGregor: He blazed the trail for the influx of actors that would come after him. Oh how we owe him. As haunting as Trainspotting was, his shaven-headed face softened the blow. He may also be responsible for the “Scottish haircut” phenomenon to sweep the nation…

6. Dougray Scott: I don’t have much to say, just “hello.” If I say much more I’ll babble. And wet myself.

7. Billy Boyd: It might be hard to believe, but Scotland has its wealth of tonal and accent intonations and differences, probably only noticeable to the trained (read: Scottish, or well-spent) ear. Maybe it was just the appeal of LotR, but then again, Took’s character was much more appealing with the added advantage of the softened Glasgow accent.

8. David Tennant: The new god of the small screen. Admittedly, I was probably too little for Dr. Who in the eighties - but that never stopped me watching - the bloody Daleks scared the jobby out of me. To spite me, Ian stops in his tracks and sits statuesque to watch him parade around, blasting around in the Tardis. I can’t thank him enough for that alone. Move in, we’ll make the space.

9. Gordon Ramsay: OK, he may not be an actor, but worthy enough in my eyes to make my glorious list. His drive for perfection appeals and resonates with me. I’d love to do that stuff but couldn’t tolerate the profanities that would be strewn at me. Nonetheless, I heart you.

10. Robert Carlyle: Probably best known for the leading role in The Full Monty. You can come to your own conclusions, but that’s as far as I’m taking that one.

11. Ewen Bremner: With a face only a mother could love, this one’s all over the place with popular films, but rarely a supporting actor. Sorry, it’s true. Come to think of it, I never did see Snatch.

12. Kevin McKidd: He may be a Ging-er AND a tcheucter, but I can overlook this because he’s known RIGHT NOW for Maid of Hono(u)r. How happy was I that a real Scot is playing a Scot? Very.

13. Alan Cumming: Alan, I’m sorry, but as I have been explicitly honest thus far, why break a habit of a lifetime? I was watching Jay Leno a few years ago with my dear, significant other and during your interview I blurted out, “I DIDN’T KNOW HE WAS GAY?!” “You didn’t know Alan Cumming was GAY?!” he spluttered, with a scathing tone of incredulous-ness (it’s a word, shut your dirty mouth), “just listen to him TALK!” “Bryan, he’s from the eastcoast, THEY-ALL-SOUND-LIKE-THAT!”

Growing up in the UK I am accustomed to celebrating mother’s day in March (father’s day is the same day, though), so in a way, I have two days to look forward to. One to share in some small way with my own Mum in March, and the other for myself in May.

Happy mother’s day to all the mothers out there, and all those who have a motherly influence on others. I am so very grateful for these special ladies myself.

A little boy asked his mother, “Why are you crying?” “Because I’m a woman,” she told him. “I don’t understand,” he said. His Mom just hugged him and said, “And you never will.” Later the little boy asked his father, “Why does mother seem to cry for no reason?” “All women cry for no reason,” was all his dad could say.

The little boy grew up and became a man, still wondering why women cry. Finally he put in a call to God. When God got on the phone, he asked, “God, why do women cry so easily?

God said: “When I made the woman she had to be special. I made her shoulders strong enough to carry the weight of the world, yet gentle enough to give comfort. I gave her an inner strength to endure childbirth and the rejection that many times comes from her children. I gave her a hardness that allows her to keep going when everyone else gives up, and take care of her family through sickness and fatigue without complaining. I gave her the sensitivity to love her children under any and all circumstances, even when her child has hurt her very badly. I gave her strength to carry her husband through his faults and fashioned her from his rib to protect his heart. I gave her wisdom to know that a good husband never hurts his wife, but sometimes tests her strengths and her resolve to stand beside him unfalteringly. And finally, I gave her a tear to shed. This is hers exclusively to use whenever it is needed.”

“You see my son,” said God, “the beauty of a woman is not in the clothes she wears, the figure that she carries, or the way she combs her hair. The beauty of a woman must be seen in her eyes, because that is the doorway to her heart - the place where love resides.”

I’ve really battled with myself in deciding whether to re-post this one or not. I tend to keep myself to myself, and yet frequently share my innermost thoughts and feelings openly online with the world. This would be another one of them.

I originally wrote this post 12th April 2006. It is the only time I have ever written anything about my biological father who walked out on my Mum when my brother and I were youngsters. I have no qualms declaring that he had two simultaneous affairs and ran off to be with one of them. Having had children of my own, I struggle to understand anything about him; yet at the same time, I have come full circle and left that chapter of my life behind. It’s not the most cohesive post I’ve ever written, but the only post that has left me feeling emotionally drained and in tears.

Here I am recently with my Mum and brother, John. I used to ask if I was adopted all the time.

Today was my father’s birthday. Father: I use the term loosely. And true to his form, I passed it by without a second thought. Sorry, that’s a wee bit harsh, isn’t it? OK, kudos really should be given to him for acknowledging my eighteenth though. Well done. Thanks for the card.

There’s no emotional connection. Certainly no intellectual connection. But thanks for the barrage of stomach problems - likely my only physical connection for a very long time to come. I could count on both hands how many times we’ve ‘met’.

I grew to despise singing Father’s Day songs sang at Church. They should at least be optional participation. Don’t pity me, I really don’t need or want it. I feel nothing, it’s all numb. No, it’s less than numb — there’s a real feeling connected with that. I’m past caring. Quite apathetic, actually.

It’s not all without effort on my part. I tried my best, I made a 2-hour online connection and when it got far too emotively charged for him, he ran for the hills. I know we all have faults, but there has been and wasn’t any attempt made to hide any of his. His vacant commentary was cold and unfeeling; annoyingly frustrating for a twenty-six-year-old seeking out the faceless man behind the words on the screen. I wanted and deserved answers.

Nothing.

I knew I wasn’t to blame. A seventeen-month-old and her six-year-old brother are never to blame. All I wanted was a good, solid reason for the absence of … anything.

Everything.

It was in vain.  Right before he disappeared from Instant Messenger he made some incredulous remarks, and in retaliation, I exclaimed, “You don’t know me. You don’t know what a fabulous person I am. My talents, my interests, my strengths. Me.”

I certainly don’t feel like I missed out not having a father around. I have nothing to compare with. But I will be eternally grateful for the man who stepped up to the responsibility of a father-figure in my mid-teens. Thank you, Denis.

Oh, and by the way - many happy returns.