That was a fantastic read, Henry. These personal pieces are always the most memorable and moving. I've recently finished Geoff Dyer's Homework, and despite Uncle Peter being from a different cast of characters, the richness of the prose was equally captivating.
If you spend as long in the hospitality industry as I did, you'll know a fair few Uncle Peters: my favourite (when sober), now gone from us, was a semi aristocratic Anglo-German, the sweetest man on Earth when briefly abstinent, but after his third glass of Rioja...tragic self-loathing, misery.
So true, at least the part about knowing an Uncle Peter. We have one we dearly love but horribly neglect because our livers are just not up to spending any time with him. The last time we saw him, I know that the three of us sunk at least 7 bottles of wine between lunch and dinner. I suspect there may have been a couple more but my memory was as battered as my liver by the time we went to bed.
What a beautifully written story. I've known many Peters over the years and you capture that strange, unsettling paradox of warm, if slightly unhinged bonhomie and melancholy perfectly.
Pimms with an extra shot of gin, cheers to that!
That was a fantastic read, Henry. These personal pieces are always the most memorable and moving. I've recently finished Geoff Dyer's Homework, and despite Uncle Peter being from a different cast of characters, the richness of the prose was equally captivating.
A Geoff Dyer comparison! This is too much. But thank you.
If you spend as long in the hospitality industry as I did, you'll know a fair few Uncle Peters: my favourite (when sober), now gone from us, was a semi aristocratic Anglo-German, the sweetest man on Earth when briefly abstinent, but after his third glass of Rioja...tragic self-loathing, misery.
So true, at least the part about knowing an Uncle Peter. We have one we dearly love but horribly neglect because our livers are just not up to spending any time with him. The last time we saw him, I know that the three of us sunk at least 7 bottles of wine between lunch and dinner. I suspect there may have been a couple more but my memory was as battered as my liver by the time we went to bed.
Lovely words thank you
I've enjoyed this is the various iterations over the years.
I thought it was worth dusting off again for Substack.
Didn’t expect to cry before 9am but I shall forgive you for it.
I am sorry about that. I'm welling up a bit now.
It reads like one of those chapters in a late or posthumous Hemingway book. Please take it as a compliment, in the way that I mean it
Sensitive, perceptive and genuinely moving. Thanks.
Lovely story. Beautifully told. I'm also going to find Modern Drunkard magazine; haha.
It's an odd publication.
Lovely. Really enjoyed that.
Also grateful for alerting me to Modern Drunkard magazine!
They never replied to me so I am ignoring them
What a beautifully written story. I've known many Peters over the years and you capture that strange, unsettling paradox of warm, if slightly unhinged bonhomie and melancholy perfectly.
Thank you James