3 years ago
Michael Robinson
Well, it's been too long since I visited this page buddy. Rubbish drills on my part, I realise; I will try and do much better. But today it's your birthday, so seemed a good reason to give your present to the Lifeboats. An awful lot has changed since I last took the time to write here - not all for the better, I'm sad to report. Your mum and dad are doing ok, but its been a tough year or so for them. Not least because your mum hasn't been well, but sadly Delma passed away - and during this covid ridiculousness, which of course made everything all the harder. Oh, we have a global pandemic by the way, what a joy. Your folks have remained stoic and inward-facing throughout, and I feel bad that I was either too busy or too distracted to have noticed sooner what a strain everything was for them. I know that Simon and Angie feel that too, but for my part I'm sorry to have let them - and you - down. Speaking of Angie, she's well and setting the Army world on fire, as usual. She got a Battery (and one that she wanted too), which none of us doubted for a second. She is an incredibly impressive officer, and I know that it's combination of both her strengths and yours that makes her shine so brightly. She and Kieran are good, making some of the big structural changes to the Old School Room she's wanted for a while. He makes her happy, and I know that's all you would ever have wanted for her. Simon, Sal and the girls are still way out West, but seem in good spirits. Simon has carved an enormous wooden bench for you, which he's placed overlooking the estuary - a fitting place for many an afternoon beer in your name. Claudia and Tabs are growing up ridiculously fast, both with huge personalities and a Clarke wilfulness that would make you incredibly proud. Claudia talks about you, and knows that I'm part of their lives because of you. Sometimes she gets confused between "Uncle Tom" and "Uncle Robbo", and it absolutely breaks my heart mate. But despite how crushing it feels, I'm also so glad to hear her speak your name and to be able tell her about you. I need to spend more time down West with them all, telling the girls more stories about their Uncle Tom - although I'll save some of the more risqué stories for when they're older. Or perhaps never... some really aren't for public consumption, let's be honest.
It's a weird time for us all, and everyone feels oddly disconnected, and perhaps that's why this birthday seems more strikingly painful than ever. We all miss you, every day. But without being able to see each other, I that think maybe the pain is heightened and more acute. I'm sure you'd have some profound words that would summarise things better than I can. Anyway, I've rambled-on for while now and with the looming risk of becoming too mushy and emotionally-insightful, I'll sign off.
Happy Birthday Tom.
(Ridiculously, Sigur Ros just started playing; Classic Pies)
